S  MI 


•  I 


W.  SOMERSET  M&UGHft 

AND 
DAVID    GRAY 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIPdtNIA 


SMITH 


"Good  Lord,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  didn't  know  you  had  such  hair." 


SMITH 

A    Novel  Based  on   the  Play 
By     W.    Somerset    Maugham 


BY 


DAVID    GRAY 


NEW  YORK 

DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 
1911 


COPYRIGHT.  1911 
BY  DUFF1ELD  AND  COMPANY 


SmV 

(Enntettia 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 
Tom  Freeman  Comes  Home       .....          1 

CHAPTER  II 
Rose  and  Her  Friends       ......          9 

CHAPTER  III 
A  Sister's  Welcome  .......        31 

CHAPTER  IV 
Freeman  Declares  His  Quest     .....         53 

CHAPTER  V 
The  Personal  "Smith"  is  Detected      ....         71 

CHAPTER  VI 
Freeman  Essays  Conversation  .         .         .  .        87 

CHAPTER  VII 
The  Brothers-in-Law  Differ       .....       107 

CHAPTER  VIII 
Emily  Discloses  Her  Intentions          .         .         .         .129 

CHAPTER  IX 
The  Trap  is  Sprung  .....         .         .145 

CHAPTER  X 
How  a  Rubber  at  Bridge  was  Interrupted          .         .       161 

CHAPTER  XI 
Emily  Shows  Herself  in  a  New  Light        ...       185 

CHAPTER  XII 
Freeman  is  a  Second  Time  Rejected  .         .         .         .205 


014 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Smith  and  Freeman  Continue  Discussion  .         .         .       #35 

CHAPTER  XIV 
Emily  Makes  New  Plans 249 

CHAPTER  XV 
The  Storm  Breaks  in  Credinton  Court       .          .          .       271 

CHAPTER  XVI 
Mr.  Peppercorn  Makes  an  Announcement          .         .       283 

CHAPTER  XVII 
Tom  Freeman  Tries  Again         .....       297 


iCtsl  of  Jlllusltattnn0 

PAGE 

"Good  Lord,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  didn't  know  you  had 

such  hair" Frontispiece 

"Smith  received  this  information  in  silence"  .  .  94 
"Oh,  no,  Ma'am,"  said  Smith;  please  go  at  once"  .  1T9 
"I'm  afraid  you'll  strain  yourself,  sir,"  she  said  politely  ISO 


TOM  FREEMAN  COMES  HOME 


SMITH 

CHAPTER    I 

TOM    FREEMAN    COMES    HOME 

THE  ship  came  to  anchor  in  the  night. 
With  the  first  light  he  was  standing  by  the 
rail  gazing  at  the  white  cliffs.  A  barefooted 
sailor  came  by  with  a  swab  and  bucket. 
"There  isn't  any  mistake  about  it,  is  there?" 
he  asked.  "It's  England?" 

"Mistake?"  echoed  the  sailor  contemptu- 
ously. "  'Ow  could  there  be  a  mistake?" 
He  passed  on  along  the  deck  and  the 
bronzed,  broad-shouldered  man  in  tweeds 
smiled,  turned  to  the  rail  again  and  the  grey, 
misty  prospect  of  Southhampton  harbour. 

After  breakfast,  which  no  one  ate,  and 
interminable  hours  of  waiting,  the  tender 
finally  came  off  and  the  sun-browned  man 
stationed  by  a  pile  of  luggage  marked  T.  F. 

1 


2  SMITH 

waited  impatiently  for  the  disbarking.  As 
they  neared  the  shore  a  little,  fitful  breeze 
off  the  downs  brought  smells  of  wet  earth 
and  growing  things,  of  England  in  April, 
and  he  filled  his  lungs  rapturously. 

In  the  train  shed  the  porters  were  running 
to  and  fro.  The  London  train  was  at  last 
about  to  start.  The  man  that  Freeman  had 
sat  next  to  at  table  all  through  the  voyage 
from  the  Cape,  brushed  by.  Freeman  held 
out  his  hand.  "Well,"  he  said,  "we're 
home." 

"We've  come  a  long  road,"  said  the  other 
man,  "but  now  we're  home." 

"Is  there  any  place  like  England?"  said 
Freeman.  Then  he  turned  and  got  into  the 
railway  carriage. 

As  they  burst  into  the  country  the  hedge- 
rows were  white  with  blossom,  the  meadows 
were  tender  green,  the  roses  on  the  thatched 
cottage  were  coming  into  bloom  and  Free- 
man sat  by  the  window  of  the  speeding  train 
and  devoured  it  all  with  hungry  eyes.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  a  shower  of  warm  rain 


FREEMAN  COMES  HOME       3 

broke  and  passed.  The  sun  came  out,  the 
larks  fluttered  up  from  the  meadows,  and 
through  the  roar  of  the  train  he  seemed 
to  hear  their  twinkling  little  songs  against 
the  country  stillness  and  peace  with  the 
subtle  inner  ear  of  the  heart.  It  seemed 
worth  the  lonely  years  on  the  Rhodesian 
veldt  to  find  it  all  unchanged,  so  green,  so 
satisfying  to  sun-weary  eyes,  so  truly  home. 
As  they  drew  near  to  London,  as  the  brick- 
built  towns  became  closer  together  and  they 
entered  the  smoky  pall  of  the  city,  he  found 
that  he  loved  that,  too.  It,  too,  was  part  of 
home.  He  caught  the  name  of  a  station 
as  they  flashed  by  and  it  told  him  that 
they  were  coining  into  Waterloo.  Again 
he  collected  his  things,  as  he  had  done  a 
half  dozen  times  in  the  last  half  hour,  and 
set  himself  to  endure  the  remaining  min- 
utes. But  his  composure  was  outward  only, 
for  the  best  of  it  all  was  just  ahead.  There 
in  the  great  station,  only  half  a  mile  away, 
Rose,  his  sister,  was  waiting  for  him;  Rose, 
and  very  probably  her  husband,  whom  he 


4  SMITH 

had  never  seen.  He  wondered  what  the 
unknown  brother-in-law  would  look  like. 
He  wondered  how  the  years  had  dealt  with 
Rose.  But  after  all,  that  mattered  very 
little.  Out  of  all  the  world  they  were 
the  persons  that  belonged  to  him.  It  was 
them  chiefly  that  made  the  difference  be- 
tween Rhodesia  and  England.  They  were 
the  heart  of  that  curious,  intangible,  precious 
thing  that  we  call  home,  the  centre  that  con- 
tinuously draws  us  back  across  lands  and 
seas  to  what  is  ours.  It  flashed  across  him 
half  humorously  that  he  was  growing  un- 
conscionably sentimental,  but  he  did  not 
care.  And  then  the  train  stopped. 

A  porter  took  his  luggage  and  he  hurried 
toward  the  crowd  that  was  waiting  to  greet 
the  arriving  passengers.  A  pretty  woman 
waved  her  hand  and  he  waved  back.  Then 
he  saw  that  it  was  not  Rose  and  that  she  was 
waving  to  someone  else.  "She  must  be  far- 
ther back  in  the  crowd,"  he  thought,  and  he 
pressed  on,  but  as  the  crowd  melted  he  saw 
that,  for  the  moment,  he  had  missed  her. 


FREEMAN  COMES  HOME       5 

He  walked  forward  and  back,  he  searched 
the  station  with  his  eyes,  but  it  was  apparent 
that  she  was  not  there.  For  a  moment  his 
heart  sank.  Could  anything  have  hap- 
pened? was  she  sick?  However,  he  was  not 
the  man  to  be  the  prey  of  forebodings.  He 
decided  that  she  must  have  been  late  in  start- 
ing and  he  waited  longer.  Then  it  sug- 
gested itself  that  perhaps  she  was  down  with 
a  headache  or  a  cold  and  had  sent  Herbert, 
her  husband.  He  began  to  look  about  for 
bald-headed  men  about  forty-five,  with  the 
appearance  of  being  prosperous  barristers, 
but  there  was  no  one  to  answer  the  descrip- 
tion. 

"Anyhow,"  he  muttered,  "what  difference 
does  it  make!  They  probably  didn't  get 
my  wire."  He  turned  to  the  porter.  "We 
won't  wait,"  he  said;  and  the  porter  asked 
him  if  he  would  have  a  taxi. 

"Taxi?"  he  repeated.  These  things  had 
come  in  the  eight  years  that  he  had  been  out 
of  the  world.  "No,"  he  answered  savagely, 
"put  me  into  a  growler."  As  the  door  of 


6  SMITH 

the  old  four-wheeler  closed  with  a  snap  he 
breathed  the  musty  smell  of  the  damp  up- 
holstery and  smiled  again  and  they  began 
to  thread  their  way  toward  Kensington  and 
the  adventure  that  had  brought  him  over  ten 
thousand  miles  of  sea. 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS 


CHAPTER  II 

ROSE   AND    HER   FRIENDS 

IT  was  ten  minutes  to  five  when  Freeman's 
train  reached  Waterloo  station.  At  ten 
minutes  to  five  in  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker's  draw- 
ing-room at  Credinton  Court,  Kensington, 
there  were  four  people  playing  bridge,  three 
women  and  a  young  man.  They  played  on 
until  presently  a  little  French  clock  on  the 
mantelshelf  began  to  strike.  The  young 
man  and  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker  both  looked  up. 

"I  say,  Rose,"  said  he,  "what  about  tea?" 

"Ring  the  bell,"  said  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker. 

Mr.  Algernon  Peppercorn  arose,  rang 
the  bell  and  presently  a  parlour  maid  ap- 
peared. 

"Bring  the  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker. 
She  played  a  card  and  then  looking  up 
called  to  the  maid:  "Is  Mr.  Freeman's  room 
ready?" 

As  she  spoke  the  name  "Freeman"  the 
9 


10  SMITH 

woman  who  was  playing  at  her  left  looked 
quickly  up,  caught  her  eye  and  looked  down 
at  her  cards  again.  It  was  Emily  Chapman. 
She  was  a  woman  a  little  past  thirty,  who 
had  evidently  been  handsome,  as  a  girl.  But 
her  beauty  had  faded  and  it  was  somewhat 
obvious  that  art  had  been  called  upon  to  take 
its  place.  She  had  the  look  of  a  woman 
who  had  been  through  hard  places  without 
having  reaped  any  spiritual  advantages  from 
her  experience. 

The  other  woman,  Mrs.  Otto  Rosenberg, 
a  pretty  but  fading  blonde,  missed  the  inter- 
change of  glances  between  Rose  and  Emily. 
"Who  on  earth  is  Mr.  Freeman?"  she  asked 
curiously. 

"Tom,"  explained  Mr.  Peppercorn, — "her 
brother,  her  long-lost  brother." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  looked  at  Rose  for  con- 
firmation, and  Rose  nodded.  "Yes,"  she 
said,  "he's  coming  back  to-day."  She 
glanced  again  at  Emily,  and  Emily  again 
dropped  her  eyes. 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS    11 

"We  can't  play  bridge,  if  you  talk  all  the 
time,  can  we?"  said  Emily  sharply. 

"But  aren't  you  awfully  excited?"  said 
Mrs.  Rosenberg,  still  talking  to  Rose. 

"Do  I  look  it?"  answered  Rose  laugh- 
ing. 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 
"Well,"  she  said,  "I  suppose  we  had  better 
stop  and  settle  up." 

"Why?"  demanded  Rose.  "Can't  we  go 
on  after  tea?" 

"But  you  will  want  to  get  rid  of  us,"  Mrs. 
Rosenberg  answered. 

"Get  rid  of  you?"  Rose  repeated  in  a  tone 
of  perplexity. 

"But  isn't  your  brother  expected  soon?" 
Mrs.  Rosenberg  explained. 

"I  think  so,"  answered  Rose.  "Didn't  he 
wire,  Algy,  that  he  was  coming  about  five  ?" 

"His  wire  said  that  he  was  arriving  at 
Waterloo  at  four-fifty,"  Mr.  Peppercorn 
replied. 

He  got  up,  went  to  the  writing  table  and 


12  SMITH 

picked  up  a  telegram.  "Yes,"  he  went  on, 
"I  was  quite  correct  in  my  statement.  It  is 
four-fifty." 

"But  it's  past  that  time  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg  to  Rose.  "Didn't  you  intend  to 
meet  him?" 

Rose  laughed  drily.  "Good  heavens,  no !" 
she  answered.  "Why  on  earth  should  I 
stand  about  a  draughty  station  for  half  an 
hour?" 

"But  you  haven't  seen  him  for  ten  years," 
said  Mrs.  Rosenberg. 

"Eight,  to  be  precise,"  Rose  answered; 
"but  even  if  it  were  ten,  what  is  half  an  hour 
more  or  less?" 

"When  Otto  goes  to  Paris  on  business  for 
a  week,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "I  always 
meet  him  at  the  station." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  observed  her  with  polite 
surprise.  "Really?"  he  remarked.  "But 
doesn't  it  bore  you?" 

"Yes,  but  Otto  seems  to  think  I  ought  to," 
she  answered. 

Miss  Chapman,  who  had  risen  from  the 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     13 

table,  turned  idly  to  the  fire.  "Germans 
are  so  sentimental,"  she  said,  yawning. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  him  a  German/' 
said  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  "He's  been  natural- 
ised ten  years." 

"Well,"  said  Rose,  also  leaving  the  table, 
"as  regards  meeting  people,  it's  just  a  mat- 
ter of  common  sense.  I'm  sure  Tom  would 
hate  me  to  go  to  meet  him  just  as  much  as 
I  should  hate  going.  What  good  would  it 
do  either  of  us?"  No  one  refuted  her,  and 
she  went  on.  "I  think,  Algy,  that  you're 
going  rather  to  like  him.  He's  really  rather 
funny,  sometimes." 

"I  dare  say  I  shall  like  him,"  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn replied  vaguely. — "If  he  doesn't 
bore  me.  I  forget,  what  has  he  been  doing 
out  there?" 

"Oh,  all  sorts  of  things,"  Rose  explained. 
"I  know  very  little  about  him,  you  know. 
He  has  written  to  me  once  or  twice  a  year, 
but  you  see  I'm  always  so  busy  I  never  seem 
to  have  time  to  write.  I  do  try  to  send  him 
a  picture  post  card  for  Christmas,  but  that's 


14  SMITH 

a  great  bore.  I  believe  of  late  he's  been 
farming  in  Rhodesia. " 

As  Rose  talked  on  she  kept  an  eye  on 
Emily  and  noted  that  she  was  growing 
uneasy  as  the  minutes  passed. 

"That  sounds  a  cheerful  occupation,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Peppercorn,  "but  I'm  quite  as 
well  pleased  not  to  be  indulging  in  it.  Odd 
sort  of  chap  that  likes  to  farm." 

Before  he  finished,  Emily  had  begun  to 
move  restlessly  about  the  room  as  if  search- 
ing for  something  that  was  not  there. 
"Haven't  you  got  a  mirror  glass  in  here?" 
she  asked  at  last;  "I  want  to  arrange  my 
hat." 

"No,"  said  Rose.  "We  had  <  one,  but 
Algy  insisted  on  our  taking  it  out.  I  forget 
why.  Why  was  it,  Algy?" 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn  authori- 
tatively, "I  hate  looking-glasses  in  drawing- 
rooms.  It's  so  beastly  suburban." 

The  ladies  looked  at  him  submissively  and 
then  Emily  Chapman  turned  to  Rose.  "Do 
you  mind  if  I  go  to  your  room?"  she  asked. 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     15 

"It  harasses  me  to  think  that  my  hat  is  on 
crooked." 

"It's  quite  straight,  dear,"  said  Rose,  send- 
ing her  a  teasing  look,  "but  go  by  all  means 
if  you're  anxious  about  it.  You  know  the 
way,  don't  you?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Emily,  and  she  left 
the  room. 

Mr.  Peppercorn,  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  teacup  in  hand,  silently  watched 
her  departure.  When  he  was  certain  the 
door  had  closed  behind  her,  he  looked  about 
him  and  remarked,  "I  think  she's  rather 
overdone  it,  to-day,  don't  you?" 

"I  hope  to  goodness,"  said  Rose,  "that 
she's  not  going  to  put  any  more  on.  Her 
eyes  are  too  dreadful,  now." 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg;  "why 
should  she  make  up  so?" 

Rose  smiled  knowingly.  "She  began  it," 
she  answered,  "after  her  last  engagement 
was  broken  off  as  an  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  a  broken  heart." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  laughed  and  Mr.  Pep- 


16  SMITH 

percorn  smiled  approvingly.  "I  feel,"  he 
observed,  "that  the  psychological  moment  is 
arriving  when  her  hair  will  turn  scarlet." 

"That's  left  for  her  next  matrimonial 
mishap,"  said  Rose. 

"She  has  been  dreadfully  unlucky,  poor 
thing,"  observed  Mrs.  Rosenberg  cheerfully. 

"Very,"  said  Rose;  "but  the  odd  thing,  of 
course,  is  her  being  here  to-day.  You 
know,"  she  added  in  response  to  the  general 
look  of  inquiry,  "that  she  was  engaged  to 
Tom,  don't  you?" 

"No,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  Mr. 
Peppercorn  also  deigned  to  manifest  sur- 
prise and  placed  his  teacup  on  the  mantel- 
piece behind  him.  Then  with  both  hands 
free  to  put  in  his  trousers  pockets  he  ad- 
dressed himself  to  listen. 

"I  think,"  continued  Rose,  "that  Tom  was 
her  first,  or  nearly  that.  She  gave  me  such 
an  odd  look  when  I  first  mentioned  his  name 
that  you  would  have  thought  she  still  cared 
for  him.  Perhaps  she  is  thinking  that  he'll 
do,  after  all." 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS    17 

"Did  she  break  it  off?"  asked  Mrs.  Rosen- 
berg. 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  "but  I've  never  laid  it 
up  against  her.  It  was  the  time  when  Tom 
was  hammered  on  the  stock  exchange  and 
when  she  found  that  he  was  flat  broke  she 
very  wisely  sent  him  about  his  business." 

"Modern  love,"  observed  Mr.  Peppercorn 
thoughtfully,  "has  a  very  delicate  constitu- 
tion. It  can  hardly  be  expected  to  withstand 
a  shock  like  that." 

"Well,  she  has  had  bad  luck,"  continued 
Rose  sympathetically.  "After  Tom  had  cut 
for  South  Africa,  she  consoled  herself  by 
getting  engaged  to  a  man  in  the  army  and 
then  what  do  you  think  happened?" 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg. 

"After  they  had  been  engaged  for  ever 
and  ever,  two  or  three  years,  at  least,  the 
poor  fellow  was  killed  somehow  or  other. 
Can  you  imagine  a  worse  bore  for  her?" 
She  paused  a  moment  to  offer  more  tea  to 
her  guests. — "And  I  believe,"  she  continued, 


18  SMITH 

"the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  was  quite  well 
off.  Wasn't  it  a  pity,  and  of  course  he  never 
had  made  a  will,  so  he  left  her  noth- 
ing." 

"And  was  it  after  that  she  began  to 
rouge?"  inquired  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"Oh  no,"  said  Rose;  "she  only  powdered 
after  that."  She  stopped  a  moment  in 
thought,  while  her  audience  waited  atten- 
tively. "She  didn't  rouge,"  Rose  went  on, 
"until  after  the  Einstein  match  was  broken 
off.  That  was  hard  luck,  you  know." 

"A  little  more  cake  for  Algy,"  said  Mr. 
Peppercorn,  "and  then  continue,  please,  with 
the  details  of  this  deplorable  affair.  I 
don't  remember  ever  to  have  heard  them  and 
one  should  show  some  interest  in  the  lives 
of  one's  friends." 

"Well,"  said  Rose,  "it  was  positively  a 
tragedy.  Just  before  the  marriage  he  was 
made  the  co-respondent  in  a  divorce  case  and 
when  it  was  all  over  he  went  to  Emily  and 
said  that  as  he'd  ruined  the  woman,  you  see, 
and  as  she'd  lost  her  position  and  heaven 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     19 

knows  what,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  marry 
her." 

"I  say  that  was  a  bit  rough  on  Emily!" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Peppercorn  with  his  mouth 
full  of  cake. 

"I  think  it  was  very  rough,"  said  Rose, 
"for  she's  thirty-two,  if  she's  a  day.  My  im- 
pression is  that  she'd  accept  a  chimney 
sweep  if  he  asked  her." 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  probably  know," 
said  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  "She  is  a  great  friend 
of  yours,  isn't  she?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Rose,  "I'm  devoted  to 
her.  I've  never  let  the  manner  in  which  she 
treated  Tom  influence  me  in  the  least,  and 
I've  always  defended  her  whenever  people 
have  talked,  as  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  some- 
times have  done.  Of  course,"  Rose  contin- 
ued, "there  are  some  things  which  people 
say,  which  one  simply  can't  deny.  We  all 
know  she  hasn't  a  farthing,  yet  look  at  the 
way  she  dresses." 

"Personally,"  observed  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"I  think  she  plays  bridge  a  bit  too  well." 


20  SMITH 

Rose  nodded.  "I  only  ask  her,"  she  said, 
"when  I  can't  get  anybody  to  make  a  fourth. 
I  know  that  she  always  wins,  and  I  find  it 
quite  hard  enough  to  pay  for  my  own  frocks 
without  helping  to  pay  for  hers." 

"She  really  dresses  very  nicely,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg,  not  without  a  touch  of  envy  in 
her  tone. 

"She  does,"  said  Rose,  "and  I  often  won- 
der if  it's  only  on  bridge  that  she  does  it." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "let 
us  believe  the  worst  about  her.  I  think  I 
hear  her  coming  down  the  passage."  They 
were  silent  for  a  moment  listening  and  then 
the  door  opened  and  Miss  Chapman  came  in 
again.  She  glanced  shrewdly  around  the 
room  and  smiled.  "Well,"  she  said,  "have 
you  been  tearing  my  character  to  pieces?" 

Mr.  Peppercorn  looked  at  her  admiringly 
and  went  to  the  tea-tray  with  his  empty  cup. 
"Darling,"  he  said,  "we  haven't  left  you  a 
shred,  but  I  have  generously  left  you  nearly 
half  of  the  plum  cake  and  you  may  have 
some  tea." 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     21 

"I  felt  that  I  must  choose  between  my  hat 
and  my  character  when  I  went  out,"  said 
Miss  Chapman,  helping  herself  to  the  prof- 
fered cake. 

"And,"  said  Rose  cheerfully,  "you  wisely 
chose  the  more  important."  She  broke  off 
as  the  door  opened  again.  "Ah,  here  comes 
my  lord  and  master,"  she  observed,  "instead 
of  brother  Tom."  She  nodded  to  a  stout, 
smooth-shaven  man,  about  forty-five,  who 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

Herbert  Dallas-Baker  was  a  very  bald, 
easy-going,  pompous  and  rather  common- 
place type  of  barrister,  extremely  well 
satisfied  to  be  a  K.  C.  "How  d'you 
do?"  he  said  pleasantly  enough  and  shook 
hands  with  Mrs.  Rosenberg  and  Emily. 
To  Mr.  Peppercorn  he  merely  said, 
"Hulloa,  Algy,"  whereupon  Mr.  Peppercorn 
very  simply  turned  his  back  and  went  to  the 
window  and  closed  it.  On  his  return  to  the 
fireplace  he  acknowledged  the  salutation  by 
saying,  "Hulloa!" 

"You've  just  come  in  time  for  tea,"  ob- 


22  SMITH 

served  Rose.  "Rather  early  for  you,  isn't 
it?" 

"There  was  nothing  doing  in  Chambers," 
said  Dallas-Baker,  "so  I  thought  I'd  drop  in 
and  see  if  there  was  any  bridge." 

"You  must  take  my  place,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg;  "I  must  be  going." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Rose  firmly.  "We  shall 
cut  out." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Dallas-Baker,  after 
being  supplied  with  tea,  "that  your  brother 
hasn't  turned  up  yet." 

"No,"  said  Rose,  "I  dare  say  his  train  is 
late  or  something.  Algy  said  he  ought  to 
have  arrived  at  Waterloo  at  ten  minutes  be- 
fore five." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  he'll  get  here,"  said 
Dallas  -  Baker  hopefully.  "It's  rather 
funny,"  he  went  on  to  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "I've 
never  seen  him,  you  know.  I  didn't  meet 
Rose  till  after  he  had  gone  out  to  the  Cape." 

"Well,  I've  half  a  mind  to  think  you'll  like 
him,"  said  Rose.  "He's  one  of  those  restful 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     23 

people  who  take  nothing  seriously.  He  has 
no  morals  and  no  conscience." 

"He  sounds  perfectly  delightful!"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Rosenberg. 

"And  on  the  other  hand,"  Rose  contin- 
ued, "he  has  a  very  neat  gift  for  repartee 
and  a  really  keen  sense  of  humour." 

"Which  is  much  more  useful  in  a  wicked 
world,"  observed  Mr.  Peppercorn  pro- 
foundly. As  he  uttered  this  oracle  he  went 
to  the  card  table  and  began  a  game  of  soli- 
taire. 

"Still,  he  may  have  changed  in  eight 
years,"  suggested  Miss  Chapman,  who  had 
been  listening  in  silence. 

Rose  shook  her  head  and  gave  Emily  a 
quizzical  look.  "No,"  she  said,  "I'm  sure 
that  he  will  be  the  same  flippant,  careless, 
delicious  creature  that  he  always  was. 
Rather  like  Algy,  don't  you  think?" 

Miss  Chapman  looked  at  Mr.  Peppercorn. 
"No,"  she  said  decidedly  and  with  a  slight 
curling  of  the  nostril, — "not  in  the  least." 


24  SMITH 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn 
gently,  as  he  dealt  the  cards. 

"Well,  of  course,  I  dare  say  I  have  for- 
gotten him,"  said  Rose  tolerantly.  "So 
many  things  happen  in  eight  years  to  blot 
out  old  impressions.  Except  for  the  senti- 
ment of  it,  we're  really  quite  strangers, 
aren't  we?  And  sentiment,  after  all,  is  such 
rot." 

Dallas-Baker  evidently  was  not  interested 
in  these  speculative  questions,  for  he  turned 
to  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "What  have  you  been 
doing  to-day,  Algy?"  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  waited  until  he  had  pon- 
dered his  next  play  and  made  it,  then  he 
turned  pleasantly  to  his  host.  "Oh,  we've 
had  rather  a  busy  day,"  he  answered, 
"haven't  we,  Rose?" 

"We  have,  rather,"  assented  Rose. 

"To  begin  with,"  continued  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn, "I  rolled  up  about  eleven  and  took 
Rose  to  have  a  frock  tried  on." 

"Herbert,"  said  Rose  to  her  husband, 
"you  can't  imagine  how  invaluable  Algy  is 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     25 

at  the  dressmaker's.  He  is  so  full  of  in- 
genious ideas." 

"If  I  may  say  it  without  vanity,"  observed 
Mr.  Peppercorn,  for  the  moment  suspending 
his  solitaire,  "I  do  know  a  thing  or  two  about 
frocks.  But  why  shouldn't  I?" 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  laughed.  "I  wonder 
what  Otto  would  say,"  she  observed,  "if  I 
took  a  young  man  to  help  me  try  on  a  new 
gown?" 

Dallas-Baker  glanced  from  Mrs.  Rosen- 
berg to  his  wife.  "I  suppose  it  would  de- 
pend upon  the  result,"  he  observed  quietly. 

"I  think  Otto  sounds  rather  suburban," 
said  Rose  firmly. 

"He's  not  exactly  suburban,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg  defensively.  "He's  Maida  Vale." 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Algy,  continuing 
his  chronicle  of  the  day.  "After  the  dress- 
maker's we  came  back  here  and  lunched  and 
we've  played  bridge  ever  since.  Rather  a 
hard  day,  what?" 

Dallas-Baker  said  nothing,  but  helped 
himself  to  bread  and  butter. 


26  SMITH 

"I  do  think  London  is  very  tiring!"  said 
Rose. 

Miss  Chapman  went  to  the  card  table  and 
seated  herself  opposite  Mr.  Peppercorn. 
"If  we  want  another  rubber  before  dinner," 
she  said,  "we  ought  not  to  waste  any  more 
time." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  rose  as  if  about  to  go. 
"I'm  not  going  to  play  any  more,"  she  said 
to  Dallas-Baker.  "I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
time  for  another  rubber;  you  must  take  my 
place." 

"You're  sure  I'm  not  driving  you  away?" 
he  asked.  "We  wish  you'd  stop  on."  As 
her  tone  seemed  really  to  mean  that  she  was 
going,  his  polite  insistence  that  she  remain 
was  quite  warm  and  genuine. 

"No,  I  really  can't  play  any  more,"  she 
replied.  "I'll  just  wait  a  minute  and  see 
what  the  hands  are  and  then  I'll  fly." 

"Come,  then,"  said  Miss  Chapman,  "let's 
cut  for  partners." 

The  cards  made  Emilv  and  Dallas-Baker 


ROSE  AND  HER  FRIENDS     27 

play  together,  with  Rose  and  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn against  them. 

"Are  you  weak  and  weak?"  asked  Dallas- 
Baker  of  his  partner. 

"I  am,"  said  Emily. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Dallas-Baker. 

"You  don't  mind  light  no  trumpers,  do 
you?"  Miss  Chapman  asked. 

"No,"  he  agreed  again. 

"It's  the  only  way  to  make  money,"  she 
said  decidedly. 

"You  put  the  fear  of  God  into  me,  Miss 
Chapman,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn  reverently; 
and  with  this  interesting  and  intellectual 
prelude  the  rubber  began. 

Rose  gathered  up  her  hand,  glanced 
through  it  and  smiled.  There  was  a  blush 
of  red  cards,  all  the  honours  in  hearts,  cer- 
tain outside  aces  and  a  long  suit  in  clubs. 
Suddenly  a  disturbing  thought  flashed  upon 
her.  "I  say,"  she  remarked  ruefully,  "it 
will  be  an  awful  bore  if  Tom  comes  before 
we  have  finished  the  rubber." 


28  SMITH 

"A  merciful  Providence,"  observed  Mr. 
Peppercorn  hopefully,  "is  always  good  to 
card  players." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  now,"  said  Rose 
firmly,  "nothing  will  induce  me  to  stop  in 
the  middle  of  a  hand  whether  it  is  good  or 
bad."  No  one  said  anything.  "I'm  going 
to  make  this  hearts,"  she  added. 

"Probably,"  said  Dallas-Baker  smiling, 
"she's  got  'em  all." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"Shall  I  play  to  hearts,  partner?"  asked 
Miss  Chapman. 

"Please  do,"  said  Dallas-Baker.  Miss 
Chapman  led  her  card,  Mr.  Peppercorn  laid 
down  his  hand  as  dummy  and  then  the  door 
opened  and  the  maid  announced,  "Mr.  Free- 
man!" 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SISTER'S  WELCOME 

As  the  newcomer  was  announced,  the  bridge 
players  turned  and  saw  the  sun-tanned, 
broad-shouldered  young  man  that  had  left 
the  train  half  an  hour  before  at  Waterloo, 
standing  in  the  doorway  with  his  hat  and 
coat  on,  and  a  travelling  rug  over  his  arm. 
He  looked  about  him  for  a  moment  in  per- 
plexity, searching  for  his  sister.  Then  he 
burst  in  with  a  hearty,  rather  boyish  laugh 
and  a  boy's  enthusiasm  and  eagerness  of 
manner.  "Rose!  Rose!  Rose!"  he  called. 

Rose  gathered  up  her  cards  with  a  gesture 
of  vexation  and  turned  to  him.  "Tactless 
creature!"  she  said.  "You  might  have 
waited  till  I  was  dummy!" 

Tom  Freeman  stopped  and  looked  at  her 
in  amazement. 

"Don't  you  understand,"  she  went  on, 
"that  I  had  just  begun  the  hand?  It  will 
31 


32  SMITH 

only  take  a  few  minutes.  You  do  under- 
stand, don't  you?"  She  turned  back  to 
the  table  and  leaned  over  to  inspect  the 
dummy's  cards  that  Mr.  Peppercorn  had 
laid  down.  "Let  me  see  what  you've  given 
me,"  she  said. 

Freeman  stood  in  dumbfounded  silence  at 
her  side  still  wearing  his  hat  and  coat,  when 
suddenly  the  low,  pleasant  voice  of  the  maid 
sounded  in  his  ear.  "Shall  I  take  your  coat 
and  things,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"If  you  wouldn't  mind,"  he  answered. 

She  helped  him  off  with  the  coat  and  took 
it  and  the  rug  and  then  his  hat,  all  so  quietly 
and  swiftly  that  he  turned  and  glanced  after 
her.  As  she  turned  back  in  the  passageway 
to  close  the  door,  he  noticed  that  she  was 
very  good  to  look  at.  Even  with  her  straw- 
coloured  hair  done  tightly  under  her  maid's 
cap,  he  could  see  that  it  was  quite  extraor- 
dinary hair,  and  her  fresh  English  pink-and- 
white  skin  and  the  violet  of  her  eyes  and  her 
strong,  young,  flat-backed  figure  wore  no 
disguise.  There  were  no  pictures  like  that 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        33 

in  Rhodesia  and  he  had  not  got  used  to  them 
in  England,  so  he  felt  excused  for  staring 
at  her.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however, 
that  his  glance  strayed  after  her,  and  then 
he  turned  to  his  sister  again.  He  smiled 
grimly  at  the  party  at  the  table,  who  were 
watching  in  more  or  less  embarrassed  silence, 
bent  down,  took  the  cards  gently  from  her 
hand  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  Then  he 
lifted  her  out  of  her  chair  and  drew  her  up 
to  him  to  kiss  her.  "Rose,"  he  said,  "I 
haven't  seen  you  for  eight  years;  do  you 
realise  it?" 

"Don't  be  idiotic  on  that  account,"  she 
cried.  "Do  let  me  go  on,  don't  you  see  I've 
got  to  play  out  the  hand!" 

"Come,  give  me  a  kiss,"  he  commanded. 
She  put  her  hands  stubbornly  before  her 
face. 

"Not  till  you  behave,"  she  replied.  "I 
had  no  idea,"  she  explained  apologetically  to 
the  others,  "that  my  brother  was  going  to 
make  a  scene." 

Dallas-Baker  rose  and  moved  about  the 


34  SMITH 

card  table  toward  his  brother-in-law  and 
Emily  Chapman  noticing  it  laid  down  her 
cards.  "We'd  better  give  the  game  up," 
she  said,  "don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  suppose  we'll  have  to,"  exclaimed  Rose 
gracelessly.  "You're  willing  enough/'  she 
went  on,  "because  you  probably  had  a  rotten 
hand,  but  I  had  a  very  good  one  and  I  don't 
see  why  Tom  couldn't  have  waited  five 
minutes  till  I'd  played  it.  We  could 
have  been  just  as  affectionate  five  minutes 
later." 

"Don't  talk  so  much,"  said  Freeman, 
drawing  her  closer  to  him,  "and  give  me  a 
kiss." 

"You're  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop,"  she 
answered,  but  she  smiled  at  him  rather 
sulkily  and  kissed  him. 

"There,  that's  better,"  he  said.  "You 
know  I  was  frightened  out  of  my  wits  when 
I  got  to  Waterloo.  I  was  afraid  you  were 
ill,  or  worse,  when  I  didn't  see  you  at  the 
station." 

"But  you  didn't  expect  me  to  go  all  the 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        35 

way  to  that  awful  station  and  meet  you?" 
Rose  answered. 

"I  did,  indeed,  selfish  little  beast,"  he  said 
gaily.  He  looked  at  her  affectionately  and 
kissed  her  again.  "But  it  doesn't  matter," 
he  went  on  with  a  laugh,  "I've  got  you  now 
and  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  go.  By 
George,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again!" 

"You  are  making  everybody  feel  very  un- 
comfortable," said  Rose  unresignedly,  "and 
me  perfectly  absurd." 

"Then  I  apologise,"  said  Freeman,  and 
let  her  go. 

Rose  smoothed  her  ruffled  plumage  and 
withdrew  out  of  reach.  "If  I  had  known 
that  he  was  going  to  behave  in  this  way," 
she  said  to  the  company  in  general,  "I  should 
have  received  him  in  strict  privacy." 

Freeman  laughed  and  cast  his  eye  ques- 
tioningly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two 
men,  both  of  whom  were  strangers  to  him. 
Then  he  turned  to  Peppercorn  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "I  suppose  you  are  my  brother- 
in-law,"  he  said. 


36  SMITH 

"I  am  delighted  to  shake  hands  with  you," 
replied  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "but  I  haven't  the 
honour  of  the  relationship  that  you  sug- 
gest." 

"This  is  Herbert/'  said  Rose,  and  Dallas- 
Baker  came  forward,  chuckling  at  the  mis- 
take that  Freeman  had  made. 

"You  might  have  sent  me  a  photograph," 
said  Freeman  with  some  embarrassment. 

"I  find,"  replied  Dallas-Baker,  "that  when 
one  grows  bald  the  camera  has  no  great 
attraction  for  one." 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  Freeman  assented. 
As  he  released  his  brother-in-law's  hand,  his 
eyes  fell  upon  Emily  Chapman,  whom  he 
had  not  noticed  before. 

"You  remember  Emily,"  said  Rose  with 
a  slight  smile. 

Freeman's  enthusiastic  manner  returned 
at  once.  "By  Jove,  it  is  Emily!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "and  it  is  ripping  to  see  you.  You 
haven't  changed  a  bit!"  He  took  both  her 
hands  and  shook  them  violently. 

"It  is  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  said  Emily. 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        37 

"And  this  is  Cynthia,"  Rose  went  on  with 
a  look  at  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  "You  remember 
Cynthia  Russell?" 

For  a  moment  he  was  at  a  loss.  Then  he 
burst  into  one  of  his  hearty,  infectious  laughs. 
"But  Cynthia  was  a  kid  when  I  left,"  he 
cried.  He  held  out  his  hand.  "Good  gra- 
cious, how  old  I'm  growing.  Your  bald- 
ness, Herbert,  is  nothing  to  it!" 

"I'm  afraid  it's  how  do  you  do,  and  good- 
bye," said  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  "I  really  must 
be  going.  I  think  my  husband  used  to  know 
you  when  you  were  on  the  stock  exchange." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  mar- 
ried!" Freeman  exclaimed  with  gallant  sur- 
prise. "What  is  his  name?" 

"Otto  Rosenberg,"  she  answered. 

"No,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "I  don't  think 
I  ever  knew  him.  I  used  to  know  a  fat  old 
German  called  Rosenberg,  but  he  was  old 
enough  to  be  your  father."  He  looked  up 
and  caught  Rose's  eye  signalling  disapproval, 
and  the  next  moment  Mrs.  Rosenberg 
laughed. 


38  SMITH 

"That  is  my  husband,"  she  said. 

Freeman  looked  at  her  aghast.  "Oh,  I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  clumsily.  "I  am 
so  sorry." 

"It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Rosenberg  amicably.  "People  do  call  him 
a  fat  old  German,  but  there  is  not  a  girl  I 
know  who  wouldn't  have  been  glad  to  marry 
him." 

"As  long  as  you  are  happy,  that  is  the 
chief  thing,  isn't  it?"  said  Freeman,  and  he 
gave  her  one  of  his  hearty,  good-natured 
smiles. 

She  nodded.     "Yes,  indeed,"  she  said. 

"By  the  way/'  observed  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  something,  "how  is 
your  son  and  heir  to-day?  I  had  forgotten 
to  enquire." 

"He  was  rather  seedy  this  morning,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "and  very  cross,  I 
fear.  But  I  don't  really  know,  for  I  just 
saw  him  for  two  minutes  before  I  went 
out." 

Freeman    listened    interestedly.     "Have 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        39 

you  really  got  a  baby  ?"  he  asked.  "How  old 
is  he?" 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  was  looking  at  the  watch 
hanging  from  the  jewelled  pin  on  her  blouse 
when  he  spoke  and  she  answered  rather  ab- 
sently, "Six  weeks.  Good  heavens!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I  had  no  idea  how  late  it  was. 
I  have  only  just  got  time  to  get  back  and 
dress  for  the  opera.  Otto's  so  funny,  he 
hates  arriving  late." 

"But  are  you  able  to  leave  your  baby  all 
day?"  Freeman  inquired. 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  looked  from  Rose  to  the 
questioner  in  mild  amazement.  "He's  got 
a  nurse,"  she  said. 

Freeman  looked  somewhat  at  a  loss.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  and  laughed  drily. 
' 'In  Rhodesia  we're  rather  primitive  in  our 
habits." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  laughed,  too.  "You're 
forgiven,"  she  said.  "What  absurd  crea- 
tures you  must  be  in  Africa!  Good-bye, 
dear,"  she  called  to  Rose,  "I  have  enjoyed 
my  afternoon."  Rose  returned  her  saluta- 


40  SMITH 

tion.  The  two  women  kissed  amicably  and 
Mrs.  Rosenberg  left  the  room.  As  soon  as 
she  was  well  out  of  hearing,  Rose  turned  to 
her  brother  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughing. 
"What  ever  made  you  say  that  to  Cynthia?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Say  what?"  demanded  Freeman. 

"About  leaving  her  baby,"  Rose  replied. 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  "why  shouldn't  I? 
I  think  women  ought  to  look  after  their 
babies  if  they're  lucky  enough  to  have  them." 

Rose  was  about  to  reply,  but  she  checked 
herself  as  the  maid  who  had  taken  Freeman's 
coat  and  hat  entered  the  room  and  ap- 
proached him.  "Would  you  give  me  the 
key  of  your  box,  sir?"  she  said  in  a  low, 
pleasant  voice.  "I've  unpacked  the  dress- 
ing-case." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said.  He 
gave  her  the  keys  and  followed  her  with  his 
eyes  again  as  she  turned  and  left  the  room. 
"It's  rather  nice  to  have  someone  to  do 
things  for  you,  when  you've  had  to  do  every- 
thing for  yourself  for  the  Lord  knows  how 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        41 

long,"  he  observed  to  Dallas-Baker.  "You 
people  don't  appreciate  it.  By  the  way," 
he  added,  "what's  the  name  of  that  parlour 
maid,  Rose?" 

"Smith,"  was  the  reply. 

"Smith?"  Freeman  repeated,  "that  all? 
what  goes  first?" 

Rose  looked  at  him  scornfully.  "How 
should  I  know?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  "but  I 
should  think  you  would,  that's  all." 

"Isn't  she  something  new?"  asked  Emily 
Chapman. 

"No,"  said  Rose,  "I've  had  her  since  last 


summer." 


"Really,"  said  Emily  in  mild  surprise. 
"I  somehow  had  never  noticed  her  before. 
But  I  never  do  know  my  friends'  servants 
apart.  It's  stupid  of  me!" 

Freeman  said  nothing,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  it  was  stupid. 

"I  got  her  in  the  country,"  Rose  contin- 
ued. "Her  father  has  a  farm  near  the  house 
we  took  for  the  long  vacation.  We  used  to 


42  SMITH 

get  our  eggs  and  butter  there.  She  wanted 
a  place,  so  I  took  her." 

"Hadn't  she  been  in  service  before?" 
Emily  asked  idly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Rose.  "She's  been  in 
some  very  good  houses,  but  only  in  the  coun- 
try. She  was  anxious  to  come  to  London." 

"She's  the  best  maid  we've  had  for  a  long 
time,"  Dallas-Baker  volunteered. 

"She  lias  been  rather  a  success,"  said  Rose. 
"She  works  like  a  horse  and  she's  a  very 
good  needlewoman." 

"And  her  manners  are  so  good,"  said 
Dallas-Baker  again. 

"She's  a  handsome  woman,"  said  Freeman 
quietly. 

"A  parlour  maid,"  said  Rose,  correcting 
him,  "isn't  'a  handsome  woman';  she  has  a 
'good  appearance.' '  There  was  a  laugh  at 
this  and  she  went  on.  "That's  really  why 
I  engaged  her.  Algy  hates  me  to  have  ugly 
maids." 

"Does  anyone  blame  me?"  asked  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn. 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME         43 

Emily  Chapman  rose  at  this  point.  "I 
think  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  enjoy  one 
another's  society,"  she  said.  "I  feel  sure 
that  you  want  to  fall  on  one  another's  necks 
and  talk  about  long  deceased  relatives." 

"No,  we  don't,"  said  Rose  earnestly. 
"Please  don't  go." 

"I  must,"  said  Miss  Chapman  decisively. 
"I  have  had  a  very  nice  afternoon." 

"I'm  sorry  our  bridge  was  interrupted," 
Rose  observed  stiffly. 

"I'm  not,"  said  Miss  Chapman  with  a 
smile.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Freeman 
simply  and  frankly.  "Good-bye,"  she  said. 

"Good-bye,"  he  answered.  He  took  both 
her  hands  and  held  them  a  moment.  "I'm 
so  glad  to  have  seen  you  again.  I  hope  to 
see  a  lot  of  you  while  I'm  here." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  apparently  some- 
what embarrassed.  "I'm  surprised  that 
you  haven't  forgotten  me,"  she  said,  colour- 
ing. 

"What  nonsense!"  he  exclaimed.  "I've 
often  wondered  what  had  become  of  you, 


44  SMITH 

Emily.  It  does  one  good  to  see  old  friends, 
when  one  has  been  away  as  long  as  I 
have." 

She  looked  gratefully  at  him,  withdrew 
her  hands  and  saying  "good-bye"  to  the 
room  in  general,  opened  the  door  and  left. 

Freeman  watched  her  until  she  had  gone 
and  then  sat  down.  "Nice  girl,"  he  said  to 
his  sister.  "I'm  sorry  she  hasn't  married. 
It  would  have  been  a  good  thing  for  her  to 
marry." 

Rose  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "Didn't  it 
make  you  a  little  uncomfortable,"  she  asked, 
"to  see  her  again?" 

"And  why?"  demanded  Freeman. 

"You  haven't  forgotten  that  you  were  en- 
gaged to  her,"  said  Rose  bluntly. 

"That's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  be 
friends  now,  is  it?"  he  retorted. 

Rose  laughed  sneeringly.  "No,"  she  said. 
"After  all,  she  only  threw  you  over  because 
you  went  broke." 

"Well,  I  bear  her  no  ill-will  for  that," 
Freeman  answered.  "I  dare  say  it  was  very 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        45 

natural."  There  was  a  pause  and  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn, who  had  been  sitting  in  silence, 
playing  solitaire  at  the  card  table,  looked  up 
from  his  game  with  a  judicial  and  patron- 
ising manner. 

"You  appear  to  have  a  charming  nature," 
he  said. 

Freeman  bit  his  lip.  He  was  clearly 
vexed,  but  he  controlled  himself.  "By  the 
way,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  pleasant  enquiry, 
"who  are  you,  anyway?" 

"I?"  drawled  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "Oh,  no- 
body; just  Algy." 

"That  sufficiently  explains  itself,"  said 
Freeman.  "I  was  hoping  for  information." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  laughed  amiably.  "You 
have  a  pleasant  way  of  putting  things, 
haven't  you?"  he  said. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Freeman.  "I 
don't  want  to  seem  disagreeable,  but  you 
show  no  signs  of  making  a  move  and  I 
haven't  seen  my  sister  for  eight  years.  Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  if  you 
hooked  it?" 


46  SMITH 

Mr.  Peppercorn  looked  up  from  his  rows 
of  cards  with  an  air  of  amused  tolerance  and 
caught  Rose's  eye,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Do 
explain  to  this  creature." 

Rose  laughed.  "Tom,"  she  exclaimed, 
"you  must  behave  yourself.  If  you  don't 
yet  love  Algy,  you  can't  neglect  the  forms 
of  good  society." 

"Damn  good  society,"  said  Freeman, 
calmly.  "I  didn't  come  from  Rhodesia  to 
see  Algy." 

"That  is  fortunately  true,"  said  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn, "yet  after  what  has  passed  it  would 
be  difficult  to  make  my  departure  look  quite 
natural,  wouldn't  it?  So  I  think  I'll  have 
to  stay." 

Dallas-Baker,  who  had  been  escorting 
Miss  Chapman  to  the  door,  returned  just  in 
time  to  hear  the  end  of  Peppercorn's  reply. 
"Of  course  you're  going  to  stay  to  dinner, 
aren't  you?"  he  said  hospitably. 

"Well,  you  see,"  replied  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"your  brother-in-law  seems  to  think  that  he 
would  like  to  enjoy  the  society  of  his  family 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        47; 

without—  '  he  hesitated  for  the  word  and 
Freeman  supplied  it  for  him— 

"An  outsider,"  he  said  drily. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Rose,  somewhat 
sharply.  "Of  course  you  must  stay  as 
usual." 

Mr.  Peppercorn's  indecision  vanished  at 
this.  He  turned  to  Freeman.  "Sorry  to 
annoy,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "but  this  is  a 
command,  isn't  it?  Besides,  Rose's  cook  is 
so  much  better  than  mother's,  you  oughtn't 
to  blame  me."  He  turned  to  Dallas-Baker: 
"I'll  just  go  and  telephone  to  mother  and 
tell  her  to  send  my  clothes  along.  I  can 
change  in  your  room,  can't  I,  Herbert?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Herbert.  The  master 
of  the  house  then  turned  to  Freeman, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled,  and  lit  a 
cigarette.  "You  must  be  very  glad  to  be 
home  again,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"Glad!"  exclaimed  Freeman  ecstatically, 
"you  don't  know  how  often  I've  lain  awake 
at  night  out  there  and  longed  for  the  green 
lanes  and  jolly  grey  skies  of  England." 


48  SMITH 

Mr.  Peppercorn,  on  his  way  to  the  tele- 
phone, had  reached  the  door  at  this  point  in 
Freeman's  rhapsody.  He  half  opened  it. 
"Rose,"  he  called  back,  "stop  him!  He's 
just  about  to  call  it  a  tight  little  island!"  and 
disappeared. 

Freeman  bit  his  lip,  but  took  no  notice 
of  the  interruption.  "And  when  I  landed," 
he  went  on,  "I  could  have  hugged  everyone 
I  saw,  man,  woman  and  child.  The  green 
trees,  the  great  fat  fields,  the  little  red  brick 
villas,  all  had  come  true  again!  I  kept 
saying  to  myself,  'It's  England!  Eng- 
land!'" 

"Moderate  your  transports,  dear,"  said 
Rose,  looking  up  from  the  writing  table, 
where  she  had  begun  to  compose  a  note. 
"You  are  making  yourself  a  little  ridiculous, 
don't  you  think?" 

"What  do  I  care!"  he  answered  vehe- 
mently and  went  on  to  his  brother-in-law: 
"At  Waterloo  the  porter  asked  me  if  I'd 
have  a  taxi.  'Not  at  any  price,'  I  answered. 
'Get  me  a  growler.'  And  when  I  got  in  and 


A  SISTER'S  WELCOME        49 

smelled  its  good  old  musty  stink,  I  really 
felt  I  was  in  London." 

"You  will  find  a  great  many  changes  since 
you  went  away,"  observed  Dallas-Baker 
pompously.  "Motor  cabs,  motor  busses, 
tubes.  We've  forged  ahead  since  you  left 


us." 


Freeman  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  ceil- 
ing. "I  wonder,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Dallas-Baker  with  im- 
pressive confidence.  "You  may  take  my 
word  for  it.  The  progress  of  the  past  ten 
years  has  been  perfectly  phenomenal." 

"But  is  it  all  progress?"  Freeman  insisted. 

Rose  finished  her  note  and  pushed  her 
chair  back  from  the  writing  table.  "You 
are  getting  prosy,  Herbert,"  she  remarked. 

"Am  I?"  he  replied.  "Still,"  he  contin- 
ued to  Freeman,  "it's  all  progress  and  it  has 
resulted  in  the  greatest  city  the  world  has 
ever  known,  prose  or  no  prose.  And  now," 
he  added,  rising,  "I'll  go  and  see  what  wine 
Smith  has  got  out  for  dinner,"  and  he  left 
the  room. 


FREEMAN  DECLARES  HIS 
QUEST 


CHAPTER  IV 

FREEMAN    DECLARES    HIS   QUEST 

WHEN  Freeman  and  Rose  were  at  last  left 
together,  the  brother  turned  to  her.  She 
was  still  at  the  writing  table.  "I'm  sorry," 
he  said,  "that  I  was  rather  sniffy  with  your 
friend,  just  now;  but  I  did  so  want  to  be 
alone  with  you!  You  can  understand  it, 
can't  you?" 

"You've  succeeded  in  putting  your  foot 
into  it  very  thoroughly  since  you  arrived," 
she  replied,  without  looking  up. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said.  "I  daresay  they'll 
forgive  me,  and  if  they  don't,  I  can't  help  it. 
What  I  want  now  is  to  look  at  you  and  get 
acquainted  again.  He  went  to  the  desk  and 
took  her  hand.  She  protested,  insisting  that 
she  wanted  to  finish  her  letter  and  drew  her 
hand  away,  but  he  seized  her,  picked  her  up 
from  her  chair  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 
She  struggled  to  escape,  but  he  held  her 
53 


54  SMITH 

firmly.  "Don't  be  idiotic!"  she  exclaimed 
at  last. 

He  looked  her  steadfastly  in  the  eyes  for 
a  moment,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  read  her 
innermost  thoughts.  "Are  you  happy?"  he 
asked. 

"Of  course  I'm  happy,"  she  replied. 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said  with  feeling. 
"I've  been  so  anxious  about  you." 

"Why?"  she  demanded.  She  drew  her- 
self away  again  and  he  reluctantly  released 
her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "in  the  first  place  I  knew 
nothing  about  your  husband,  except  that  he 
was  a  good  deal  older  than  you." 

"That's  inevitable,"  Rose  answered,  "un- 
less you  want  to  scrub  along  on  twopence  a 
year.  Men  don't  seem  to  earn  enough  to 
keep  a  wife  decently  until  they're  about 
forty." 

Freeman  sighed  and  smiled  rather  mourn- 
fully. "Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  am  so  re- 
lieved that  it's  all  right." 

Rose  looked  at  him  curiously.     "What  on 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  55 

earth  have  you  been  fussing  about?"  she  de- 
manded. "What  did  you  think  was 
wrong?" 

"I  was  afraid,"  he  answered  gravely, 
"that  you  might  be  awfully  disappointed 
at  having  no  children." 

She  burst  into  a  gay  laugh.  "You're  a 
perfect  fool,  Tom,  dear!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Herbert  makes  about  fifteen  hundred  a 
year  and  we  have  a  very  decent  time  on  it. 
We  go  to  San  Moritz  and  Paris  and  Marien- 
bad,  and  we  take  a  house  in  the  country. 
And  if  we're  bored,  we  can  always  stand 
ourselves  a  theatre  and  a  little  supper  at 
the  Carlton.  But  we  couldn't  do  that  if  we 
had  half  a  dozen  children." 

Freeman  looked  at  her  without  speaking 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  said  drily,  "I  see. 
That  never  struck  me  before." 

"And  besides,"  Rose  went  on,  "I  want  to 
enjoy  myself.  For  six  months  Cynthia 
Rosenberg  couldn't  do  anything.  She  led 
a  dog's  life."  She  broke  off  as  her  husband 
entered  the  room  again. 


56  SMITH 

"I  thought  we'd  kill  the  fatted  calf,"  he 
said  with  his  unctuous  smile,  "and  celebrate 
the  prodigal's  return." 

"That  sounds  like  champagne,"  suggested 
Rose. 

"Right,"  said  Dallas-Baker.  "I've  got 
just  a  little  more  Bellinger  1900.  I 
thought  this  would  be  an  admirable  oppor- 
tunity to  drink  it." 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  Free- 
man. "It's  a  long  while  since  anything  with 
the  glory  of  a  vintage  label  has  come  my 
way." 

"Well,  you  see  now,"  said  Rose  with  a 
smile,  "the  logic  of  my  philosophy.  We 
couldn't  give  you  vintage  Bellinger  if  we 
had  to  provide  for  a  pack  of  squalling 
brats." 

Freeman  laughed  good-humouredly.  "I 
would  as  soon  drink  beer,"  he  said. 

"I  wouldn't,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  who 
had  returned  noiselessly.  "I  consider  beer 
provincial  and  liverish,  as  well.  My 
mother,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  room 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  57 

in  general,  "sends  her  love  by  the  telephone 
and  my  clothes  by  a  messenger  boy." 

"She  is  a  most  well-trained  parent,"  said 
Rose.  "Thank  her  for  us  for  the  love  and 
be  grateful  yourself  for  the  clothes." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  bowed  his  acknowledg- 
ments and  taking  a  chair  from  the  side  of 
the  room  with  ostentatious  gravity,  placed 
it  directly  in  front  of  the  one  in  which  Free- 
man had  seated  himself.  Then  he  sat  down, 
crossed  his  legs  and  folded  his  hands. 
"Now!"  he  murmured. 

Freeman  looked  at  him  in  half -amused 
surprise.  "What  are  you  doing  that  for?" 
he  demanded. 

"Just  before  you  came,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn, "Rose  was  assuring  us  that  you  had  a 
pretty  wit.  We  have  leisure  now  until  it 
is  time  to  change  for  dinner.  Pray  scin- 
tillate." 

Freeman  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
his  boisterous  laugh.  "You're  a  foolish 
youth,"  he  said.  "But  if  I  was  rude  to  you 
just  now,  I  beg  your  pardon." 


58  SMITH 

"You  were  rude  to  me,"  replied  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn mildly,  "but  by  begging  my  pardon 
you  assume  a  pose  of  superiority  which  I 
resent." 

Freeman  stopped  laughing  and  looked  at 
him  in  amazement.  "I'm  afraid  I  don't 
understand  what  you  are  talking  about,"  he 
said  slowly. 

"Then  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn. "In  all  future  conversation  I  will 
do  my  best  to  confine  myself  to  words  of 
two  syllables." 

Freeman's  look  of  amazement  deepened 
as  the  youth  went  on.  Then  he  began  to 
smile  somewhat  mirthlessly.  "I  dimly  per- 
ceive," he  said,  "that  you  are  trying  to  make 
yourself  disagreeable  and  I  wonder  why?" 

Mr.  Peppercorn  took  his  cigarette  case 
from  his  breast  pocket  with  a  somewhat  fem- 
inine exaggeration  in  the  way  he  used  his 
hands,  opened  it  and  offered  it  to  his  vis  a 
vis  with  profound  ceremony.  Freeman 
took  one.  "I  am  coming  to  the  conclusion," 
he  said  thoughtfully,  "that  I  don't  like  you." 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  59 

"It  distresses  me  infinitely,"  said  Free- 
man. "But  may  I  enquire  why?" 

"As  to  that,  I  haven't  quite  made  up  my 
mind,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "I  only  know 
that  at  present  you  don't  quite  meet  with  my 
approval.  You  don't  mind  my  telling  you, 
do  you?"  he  added.  He  struck  a  match  and 
offered  it  politely. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Freeman.  He  took  the 
match,  lighted  his  cigarette,  after  which  he 
returned  it  with  equal  punctiliousness.  "I 
never  mind  what  a  man  says  to  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, "when  I  know  that  I  can  knock  him 
down  if  I  want  to." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  turned  to  Rose,  as  if  he 
had  been  inspecting  a  zoological  specimen 
in  a  glass  case  and  was  about  to  report  on 
it.  "You  know,  Rose,"  he  said,  "this 
brother  of  yours  is  uncivilised.  That  is  what 
is  the  matter  with  him.  He  smells  so 
strongly  of  mother  earth." 

Rose  laughed.  "You're  simply  marvel- 
lous at  analysis,  Algy,"  she  said. 

"And  I   suppose  that  your  nostrils  are 


60  SMITH 

more  accustomed  to  patchouli,"  said  Free- 
man good-naturedly. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "A 
repartee  at  last!  But  what  a  bad  one! 
You're  lamentably  of  your  period,  sir!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Freeman.  "I 
don't  understand." 

"You  positively  reek  of  nineteen  hundred 
and  one,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  shuddering 
at  the  thought, — "a  dreadful  chapter  in  our 
common  past  which  the  civilised  have  left 
behind  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  shaking  her  head,  "you 
are  a  great  disappointment,  Tom.  I  can 
see  already  that  you've  changed  in  the  most 
extraordinary  way." 

"I  ?"  exclaimed  Freeman  indignantly.  "I 
changed?  Is  it  really  possible?  If  you 
had  asked  me  an  hour  ago,  I  should  have 
said  that  I  was  the  same  as  ever  I  had  been, 
but  now  I  am  wondering.  Perhaps  you  are 
right.  It  is  certain  that  somebody  has 
changed.  Is  it  I  or  all  of  you?" 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  said  Rose,  with  an  air  of 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  61 

comic  desperation,  "please  don't  take  a  cas- 
ual remark  too  seriously!  What  would  be- 
come of  conversation,  if  every  time  one  said 
it  was  a  fine  day,  one  was  answered  with  a 
psychological  reflection  ?"  She  dropped  into 
an  armchair  by  the  fire  and  began  idly 
arranging  the  coals  with  the  poker. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Freeman  gravely,  "that 
I  really  have  changed.  I  remember  that  I 
left  England  with  a  sinking  heart.  When 
the  slump  came  that  broke  me,  I  thought 
that  I  had  lost  everything  worth  living  for." 
He  paused  and  flicked  the  ashes  of  his  ciga- 
rette into  the  fire.  No  one  spoke  and  he 
went  on:  "I  couldn't  realise  that  life  was 
possible  away  from  London,  with  the  the- 
atres and  music  halls.  My  idea  of  a  holiday 
in  those  days  was  the  river  and  Maidenhead. 
My  idea  of  pleasure  a  supper  at  Romano's. 
I  hunted  a  bit,  raced  a  bit,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  drank  more  than  was  good  for  me." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
interrupting  him  as  he  finished  his  sentence, 
"aren't  you  making  a  speech?" 


62  SMITH 

"I  suppose,"  said  Freeman,  continuing  on 
without  apparent  regard  for  the  interrup- 
tion, and  scrutinising  the  immaculate  youth 
soberly,  "I  suppose  that  in  those  days  I  must 
have  been  very  like  you." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  observed  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn. 

"I  said,"  repeated  Freeman,  "that  I  sup- 
pose that  in  those  days  I  must  have  been 
very  like  you.  I  see  in  you,  Algy,  the  man 
I  think  now  that  I  must  have  been,  and,  to 
be  frank,  I'm  filled  with  a  very  lively  feel- 
ing of  disgust." 

"I  don't  believe  that  you  were  ever  half 
so  agreeable  as  I  am,"  observed  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn. 

"Yes,"  said  Freeman  vaguely,  gazing  at 
Rose's  operations  with  the  poker,  "I  bless 
that  slump  that  ruined  me.  Except  for 
that,  I  might  be  making  five  thousand 
pounds  a  year." 

"And  Emily  Chapman  would  be  driving 
her  own  car,"  suggested  Rose  softly. 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  63 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  "and  I  sitting  beside 
her,  such  a  man  as  our  Algy." 

Dallas-Baker,  who  had  been  reading  the 
evening  paper  by  the  lamp,  Suddenly  looked 
up.  "But  what  on  earth  made  you  go  out 
to  the  Cape?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  the  obvious  thing  to  do,"  replied 
Freeman  absently,  "and  I  had  done  the  ob- 
vious all  my  life." 

"If  you  had  only  kept  on,"  suggested  Mr. 
Peppercorn,  "you  might  have  been  a  cabinet 
minister  by  now.  That's  something  we've 
been  spared." 

Freeman  smiled  drily.  "That  makes  me 
think  of  what  I  was,  too,"  he  observed,  "but 
not  long  after  I  got  out  to  the  Cape  it  was 
borne  in  upon  me  that  a  knack  of  saying 
rather  funny  things  was  not  as  useful  as  a 
good  heavy  fist,  and  within  three  months  I 
was  thanking  my  stars  that  I  had  the  fist." 

"Why?"' said  Rose. 

"Because,"  Freeman  went  on,  "when  I 
came  to  the  end  of  my  journey,  I  was  glad 


64  SMITH 

to  get  a  job  as  luggage  porter  in  a  Joburg 
hotel,  and  I  got  it  because  anyone  could  see 
that  I  was  a  beefy  sort  of  cove." 

A  shade  crosed  Rose's  face.  "But  why 
didn't  you  write?"  she  said  gently. 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  "I  thought  that  I 
should  like  to  come  through  on  my  own. 
And  I've  done  it.  I've  got  a  rattling  fine 
farm  in  Rhodesia  and  I've  made  a  bit  of 
money.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the 
world  that  I  want  now,  and  I've  come  all  the 
way  to  England  to  get  it.  You've  won- 
dered what  brought  me  home,  and  I'm  going 
to  tell  you." 

"And  what  is  it?"  Dallas-Baker  asked. 

"It's  even  money,"  suggested  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn, "between  an  agricultural  imple- 
ment and  a  bagatelle  board." 

"It  happens  to  be  neither,"  said  Freeman. 

"Sold  again,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "I 
am  a  bad  guesser.  We  give  up !" 

"Well,"  said  Rose,  "tell  us." 

Freeman  looked  meditatively  into  the 
coals.  "For  a  good  many  years,"  he  began, 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  65 

"I  had  to  work  so  devilish  hard  that  I  had  no 
time  for  thinking,  but  after  a  bit  I  began 
to  think  a  little.  I  used  to  look  at  dawn 
on  the  edge  of  the  veldt  and  think  how  jolly 
life  was ;  and  I  used  to  look  at  the  stars  and 
wonder  what  the  devil  life  meant.  But 
after  a  time  I  got  sick  of  that." 

"And  I'm  sure  not  one  of  us  would  blame 
you,"  volunteered  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"I  got  sick  of  all  that,"  repeated  Freeman, 
heedless  of  the  interruption,  "and  I  grew 
restless  and  dumpy.  I  couldn't  make  out 
what  the  deuce  was  the  matter  with  me  for 
a  long  while,  but  suddenly  I  hit  it!  I  knew 
what  I  wanted  and  I  packed  my  trunk  the 
next  day." 

"Well,"  said  Rose,  "out  with  it!  Sus- 
pense is  very  trying." 

"But  my  dear  girl,"  Freeman  replied, 
"what  should  it  be?  I  had  discovered  that 
man  is  not  made  to  live  alone." 

"You  are  after  a  wife?"  said  Rose. 

"I  have  six  clear  weeks  in  which  to  find 
one,"  said  Freeman. 


66  SMITH 

"Then  you  had  better  advertise  at  once," 
said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "That  will  surely 
save  not  only  time  but  trouble." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  mind  that  at  a  pinch," 
said  Freeman.  "But  I  thought  Rose  might 
be  able  to  do  something  for  me." 

"I?"  said  Rose.  "Do  you  want  me  to 
find  you  a  wife?" 

"I  do,"  said  Freeman. 

"Rose,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "we'll  start 
a  matrimonial  agency.  I've  got  thirteen  in 
mind  already."  He  turned  over  the  bridge 
scoring  tablet  and  began  to  write  a  column 
of  names  on  the  back  of  it.  "I'll  arrange 
them  alphabetically." 

"You  must  give  us  the  exact  list  of  your 
requirements,"  said  Rose,  laughing. 

"I  haven't  got  many,"  Freeman  answered. 
"I  only  want  my  wife  to  be  a  decent,  honest 
sort  of  woman,  not  afraid  of  work.  It's  no 
good  her  caring  for  society,  because  the  only 
society  that  she  is  likely  to  have  for  a  long 
time  is  mine." 

Rose  and  Mr.  Peppercorn  looked  at  one 


FREEMAN'S  QUEST  67 

another.  "I  can't  think  of  anyone,"  said 
Rose,  "who'd  do  for  that  place." 

"I  can't  imagine  one,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Smith,  the 
parlour  maid,  entered.  "A  messenger  boy 
has  brought  your  bag,  sir,"  she  said  to  Mr. 
Peppercorn.  "There's  eightpence  to  pay." 

"Oh,  Herbert,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn  to 
Dallas-Baker,  but  without  looking  round, 
"I  don't  seem  to  have  any  silver.  Would 
you  mind  giving  Smith  eightpence?" 

Dallas-Baker  produced  the  eightpence 
from  his  trousers  pocket.  While  Smith  was 
waiting  for  it,  she  crossed  to  where  Freeman 
was  standing  by  the  fire.  "Here  are  your 
keys,  sir,"  she  said  in  the  low  voice  that  had 
such  a  charming  quality  and  intonation. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Freeman,  and  he  took 
them  from  the  little  silver  tray. 

Then  Smith  took  the  eightpence  for  the 
messenger  and  departed  as  swiftly  and 
noiselessly  as  she  had  come.  Freeman 
watched  her  go,  as  he  had  watched  her  twice 


68  SMITH 

before  in  the  hour  that  he  had  spent  in  his 
sister's  house.  She  seemed  to  him  a 
strangely  efficient  and  charming  figure 
against  the  background  of  Roses  and  Algies. 
And  parlour  maid  or  no  parlour  maid,  she 
was  a  very  beautiful  woman.  He  noticed 
that  she  even  had  long,  slender,  well-shaped 
hands.  His  reflections  on  the  shapeliness 
of  the  parlour  maid's  hands  were,  however, 
interrupted  by  his  sister. 

"So  you  want  a  wife?"  Rose  said  mus- 
ingly. 

"That's  what  I  have  told  you,"  he  an- 
swered simply. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
asked  with  a  faint  smile:  "Do  you  believe 
that  broken  engagements  can  be  mended?" 

He  made  no  answer,  but  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigarette,  took  it  upon  him- 
self to  reply.  "In  this  wonderful  age,"  he 
said,  "they  can  mend  anything.  It's  first 
a  question  of  having  the  cash  to  pay  for  it." 

Rose  laughed.  "Algy,"  she  said,  "you 
are  the  greatest  living  philosopher." 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"  IS 
DETECTED 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    PERSONAL    "SMITH"  IS   DETECTED 

THE  first  three  weeks  of  Tom  Freeman's 
wife-hunting  vacation  passed  uneventfully 
and  without  application  to  the  business  in 
hand.  He  went  to  the  playhouses  and  the 
restaurants,  he  met  old  friends  and  picked 
up  some  of  the  threads  of  his  old  life,  but 
he  seemed  to  see  it  all  with  new  eyes,  eyes 
that  saw  his  beloved  England  with  the  broad 
perspective  gained  from  eight  years  in  South 
Africa,  and  the  old  life  failed  to  satisfy  him. 
Curiously  enough,  there  were  even  times 
when  he  actually  felt  the  shadow  of  home- 
sickness for  the  Rhodesian  veldt  and  its  sin- 
cere, simple,  elemental  existence  passing 
over  him.  He  knew  in  his  heart  that  if  he 
were  to  remain  in  London  it  could  not  be  in 
the  currents  that  he  had  left  eight  years 
before,  in  which  he  found  the  Dallas-Bakers 
and  his  friends  still  floundering  on  his  re- 
71 


72  SMITH 

turn.  In  the  midst  of  the  pressure  and  arti- 
ficiality of  that  life  he  actually  felt  himself 
lonelier  than  on  the  thinly-peopled  veldt,  and 
more  than  ever  he  felt  the  need,  of  which  he 
had  spoken  half  playfully  but  with  perfect 
truthfulness  to  Rose  and  Algy  on  the  even- 
ing of  his  arrival,  yet  he  had  made  no  visible 
progress  toward  satisfying  it.  To  be  sure, 
Emily  Chapman  he  had  seen  often,  but  then 
only  by  chance.  She  seemed  to  drop  in  for 
lunch  and  bridge,  and  Rose  had  her  to  dine 
occasionally,  but,  as  well  as  he  could  judge 
of  his  own  heart,  its  beating  was  as  calm  in 
her  presence  as  out  of  it.  Moreover,  his 
judgment  told  him  that  Emily  would  never 
do  for  Rhodesia.  None  of  the  girls  in  that 
set  seemed  to  have  either  the  inclination  or 
capacity  for  taking  life  seriously.  Often 
when  day-dreaming  he  tried  to  picture  the 
woman  that  he  was  looking  for  and  he  real- 
ised with  a  smile  that  the  strong,  supple, 
feminine  figure,  the  pink-and-white  skin  in- 
dicative of  perfect  health,  the  little  head  with 
its  mass  of  straw-coloured  hair,  the  violet 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     73 

eyes,  the  gravity,  balance  and  native  sweet- 
ness of  character  which  composed  his  god- 
dess, were  things  which  he  borrowed  from  the 
parlour  maid,  Smith.  "Parlour  maid,  or  no 
parlour  maid,"  he  said  to  himself,  "she  is  a 
beautiful  woman,  and  she  is  a  good  and  use- 
ful one.  But  one  can't  marry  her  because 
she  is  a  parlour  maid.  I  wonder  why?" 

One  showery  May  forenoon,  Freeman 
walked  slowly  back  from  Bond  Street  to  the 
flat  in  Crediton  Court  with  the  prospect  of 
lunching  alone.  Herbert  usually  lunched  in 
Hall  and  Rose  was  lunching  out.  She  had 
told  him  that  she  was  lunching  with  Mrs. 
Parsons-Pratt.  Instead  of  ringing  the  bell, 
he  let  himself  in  with  a  key.  The  latch 
worked  noiselessly  and  his  step  in  the  pas- 
sage on  the  heavy  rug  made  no  sound.  He 
put  away  his  hat  and  umbrella  and  hearing 
voices  coming  from  the  dining-room,  walked 
rather  aimlessly  down  the  passage.  A  por- 
tiere hung  across  the  dining-room  doorway 
and  as  he  reached  it  he  stopped,  for  through 
the  space  between  the  edge  of  the  curtain 


74  SMITH 

and  the  jamb  of  the  doorway,  he  saw  Smith 
sitting  by  the  window  with  a  pile  of  mending 
on  a  chair  beside  her,  while  a  rather  perky 
young  cockney,  whom  he  recognised  as 
Fletcher,  the  porter  of  the  flats,  was  clean- 
ing the  windows.  He  stood  a  moment  peek- 
ing through  the  slit,  for  Smith  made  a 
pleasant  picture  as  she  sat  there,  sewing 
with  swift,  graceful  movements.  He  also 
had  a  curiosity  to  play  spy  and  try  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  when  the  presence  of 
any  of  the  "master"  class  was  unsuspected. 
Smith  was  so  thoroughly  "trained"  as  a 
servant  that  he  never  could  get  hold  of  any- 
thing which  indicated  what  her  mental  proc- 
esses as  a  woman  really  were. 

Fletcher  washed  and  polished  his  window 
and  presently  in  a  low  and  very  sweet  voice 
Smith  began  to  hum  a  few  bars  of  the  song, 
"Oh,  it's  all  right  in  the  summer  time." 

As  she  stopped,  Fletcher  spoke  his  ap- 
proval. "That's  a  nice  'un,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "You'll  have 
to  get  out  of  here  in  a  minute,"  she  observed 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     75 

calmly.  There  was  neither  apology,  regret 
nor  ill  nature  in  her  tone.  It  was  a  placid 
statement  of  fact. 

"I've  just  finished,"  the  young  porter 
replied.  "I've  only  got  the  polishin'  to 
do." 

Smith  looked  up  at  him.  "It's  getting 
near  your  dinner  time,"  she  said,  "isn't  it?" 

Fletcher  grinned  amiably.  "I've  been 
thinking  I  felt  a  vacuum  this  'alf  hour,"  he 
rejoined. 

"Is  that  your  last  window?"  asked  Smith. 

"Yes,  and  jolly  glad  I  am,  too,"  replied 
Fletcher.  "I've  been  cleanin'  windows  since 
eight  o'clock  this  mornin'.  Well,"  he  went 
on  musingly,  "it  'as  it's  reward.  I  like  to 
get  'em  over.  When  I  sits  down  to  my 
sausage  and  mash,  I  like  to  say  to  myself, 
there,  Albert,  you've  earned  so  much,  any- 
way. That  is  yours." 

"I  suppose  it  pays  you  pretty  well  clean- 
ing windows,"  observed  Smith  without  look- 
ing up.  She  broke  off  a  length  of  thread 
and  swiftly  passed  it  into  the  needle's  eye. 


76  SMITH 

"Well,  it  depends  what  you  call  payin'," 
answered  Fletcher. 

"How  much  do  they  give  you?"  she  asked 
again. 

"Sixpence  a  window,"  he  said,  "large  and 
small." 

"And  what  do  you  do  with  the  money?" 
she  asked. 

"Put  it  in  the  savin's  bank,"  he  answered 
proudly.  "That's  one  thing  people  can't 
say  about  me.  They  can't  say  I'm  not 
steady."  He  turned  to  the  window  with  an 
air  of  conscious  virtue  and  fell  to  polishing  it 
vigorously. 

Smith  glanced  up  and  Freeman  saw  what 
he  had  never  seen  before  in  her,  a  light  of 
real,  human  mischief  in  her  eyes.  "And 
there  is  another  thing  they  can't  say  about 
you,"  she  observed— -"they  can't  say  that  you 
haven't  got  a  good  opinion  of  yourself." 

Fletcher  left  off  polishing  and  turned 
towards  her.  "That's  a  nice  thing  to  say  to 
a  fellow,"  he  growled  sulkily. 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     77 

"That's  why  I  said  it,"  rejoined  Smith 
sweetly. 

The  porter  gave  the  glass  a  finishing  rub, 
pressed  the  window  down  and  began  to 
gather  up  his  cloths  and  pail.  "I  kep'  this 
room  till  last,"  he  said  enigmatically. 

"Convenient  for  me  just  when  lunch  is 
ready,"  said  Smith  with  sarcasm. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  know  why,  do  you?" 
asked  Fletcher. 

"I  do  not,"  said  Smith,  with  supercilious 
disingenuousness. 

"Well,"  said  Fletcher,  "you  give  a  guess 
and  I'll  tell  you  if  you  are  right." 

"I've  got  something  better  to  do,  thank 
you,"  she  replied. 

Fletcher  set  down  his  pail  and  ladder, 
squared  off  and  looked  at  her  determinedly. 
"Look  'ere,"  he  began,  "you  ain't  forgot 
wot  I  asked  you  the  other  day?" 

"I  haven't  had  much  chance,"  said  Smith, 
"as  you've  reminded  me  every  time  I've  seen 
you." 


78  SMITH 

"Well,"  said  Fletcher,  "wot  'ave  you  got 
against  me?" 

At  this  juncture  it  occurred  to  Freeman 
that  he  was  in  the  position  of  a  man  with 
his  ear  at  a  keyhole,  but  he  did  not  attempt 
to  withdraw.  He  had  no  very  great  deli- 
cacy as  regards  Mr.  Fletcher.  As  for 
Smith,  something  in  her  manner  told  him 
that  he  was  not  likely  to  witness  anything 
which  it  would  embarrass  her  to  have  him  see 
and  hear.  Moreover,  Smith,  as  revealed  in 
her  human  and  feminine  aspects,  interested 
him  enormously.  As  a  final  consideration 
for  keeping  him  in  his  place,  he  realised  that 
should  he  attempt  to  withdraw  before  they 
passed  into  the  pantry  on  their  way  to  the 
back  entrance,  he  wrould  run  a  serious  chance 
of  being  discovered,  which  would  be  un- 
happy all  around.  So  he  held  his  ground. 

Smith  surveyed  Fletcher  after  his  ex- 
tremely personal  question  had  been  shot  at 
her  and  replied  calmly,  "I  haven't  got  any- 
thing against  you." 

"I'm  steady,"  the  young  man  continued. 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     79 

"But  steadiness  isn't  everything  in  a  man," 
the  girl  replied. 

"Now  that's  just  like  a  woman,"  Fletcher 
exclaimed  indignantly.  "If  you're  steady, 
they  want  you  wild ;  if  you're  wild,  they  want 
you  steady!" 

Freeman  smiled  inwardly  and  as  a  man 
sympathised  with  Fletcher  in  his  resentment 
of  the  wrong  which  woman  is  continually 
doing  his  sex.  He  wondered  how  Smith 
would  meet  it.  She  looked  up  for  a  mo- 
ment, tossed  a  mended  sock  into  her  basket 
and  took  a  fresh  one  from  the  pile.  "I'm 
sorry  for  that  donkey,"  she  said  gravely. 

Fletcher  looked  at  her  in  open-mouthed 
surprise,  a  surprise  that  Freeman  shared 
with  him.  "What  donkey?"  he  demanded. 

There  was  a  gleam  in  Smith's  eyes,  but 
not  even  the  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched. 
"The  donkey  whose  hind  leg  you  could  talk 
off,"  she  answered. 

Fletcher  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
"Now,  look  'ere,"  he  said,  "for  the  third  time 
of  asking.  I've  got  twenty-five  bob  a  week 


80  SMITH 

and  there's  the  window  cleanin'  and  the 
Christmas  boxes  and  the  tips." 

"I  tell  you  I'm  thinking  of  it,"  said  Smith. 
"I  can't  do  more  than  that." 

"Wot's  service?"  Fletcher  continued  con- 
temptuously,— "work,  work,  work,  and  no 
thanks  for  it!" 

"But,"  she  answered  seriously,  "it  wouldn't 
be  all  play,  play,  play,  if  I  was  married." 

"Well,  you'd  be  working  for  yourself," 
Fletcher  retorted.  There  was  silence  for  a 
moment,  then  he  went  on:  "We  could  make 
a  nice  little  'ome  downstairs." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  live  all  my 
life  in  a  basement,"  Smith  observed  with  a 
return  of  feminine  perversity  in  her  manner. 

"Well,  where  do  you  want  to  live?"  de- 
manded Fletcher. 

"That,"  she  said  soberly,  "is  my  business." 

Fletcher  looked  at  her  in  dismay.  "Do 
you  mean  you  won't?"  he  asked  bitterly. 

"Bless  the  man!"  exclaimed  Smith  petu- 
lantly; "I  don't  mean  anything.  I  don't 
say  yes  and  I  don't  say  no.  If  you  don't 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     81 

like  to  leave  it  at  that,  you  can  take  yourself 
off,  you  and  your  steps  and  your  dirty 
water." 

"All  right!  all  right!"  said  Fletcher 
conciliatingly ;  "I  won't  hurry  you."  A 
thought  came  to  him  and  he  went  on:  "You 
wouldn't  come  to  a  music  hall  with  me  my 
next  evenin'  off,  would  you?" 

Smith  smiled.  "Perhaps  I  couldn't  get 
out,"  she  said. 

"Well,  if  you  could?"  said  Fletcher. 

"Well,  I  might  if  you  pressed  me,"  Smith 
replied.  "But  mind,  it  wouldn't  mean 
'yea.'  " 

"It  wouldn't  mean  no,  either,  would  it?" 
he  rejoined. 

"It  would  mean  that  I  was  making  up 
my  mind,"  said  Smith  with  decision.  She 
began  to  gather  her  mending  together  as 
if  to  indicate  that  the  interview  was  ended 
and  Fletcher  started  with  his  ladder  and 
pail  for  the  pantry  door;  but  half  way  he 
stopped  and  turned  back. 

"You  don't  dislike  me,  do  you?"  he  asked. 


82  SMITH 

Smith  looked  up  in  wrathful  surprise  at 
seeing  him  again.  "You  take  those  things 
away  and  go  and  have  your  dinner,"  she 
said. 

Fletcher  faltered.  "There's  no  getting  a 
straight  answer  out  o'  you  to  anything"  he 
said  complainingly. 

"I  don't  dislike  you  more  than  I  dislike 
anybody  else,"  said  Smith  bluntly. 

Fletcher  half  smiled.  "Well,  that's  bet- 
ter than  a  poke  in  the  eye  with  a  blunt 
stick,"  he  said,  "ain't  it?"  * 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Smith. 

"Good  mornin'  to  you,"  said  Fletcher. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Smith. 

She  had  risen  and  was  holding  the  pantry 
door  open  for  him  while  he  edged  through 
with  his  unwieldy  step-ladder  and  pail. 
Freeman  saw  that  she  intended  to  go  back 
to  her  mending,  so  he  took  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  and  slipped  back  through 
the  passage  to  the  drawing-room,  amused  at 
what  he  had  witnessed  and  oddly  enough  as 
much  interested  as  amused.  He  had  never 


THE  PERSONAL  "SMITH"     83 

seen  Smith,  the  woman,  before,  only  Smith, 
the  parlour  maid.  And  the  woman  im- 
pressed him  as  much  as  the  parlour  maid. 
Moreover,  the  scene  further  interested  him 
because  Fletcher  was  engaged  in  the  same 
quest  as  himself,  the  search  for  a  wife.  Men- 
tally, he  wished  him  good  luck,  for  he  had 
a  fellow  feeling  for  the  energetic  porter; 
but  he  didn't  wish  him  luck  in  getting  Smith. 
He  had  a  curious  feeling  that  Smith  was 
too  good  for  a  dozen  Fletchers. 


t 


FREEMAN  ESSAYS  CONVERSA 
TION 


CHAPTER   VI 

FREEMAN    ESSAYS    CONVERSATION 

As  Freeman  pondered  over  the  comedy  that 
he  had  just  witnessed,  an  impulse  came  to 
him  to  go  back  and  see  if  he  could  surprise 
the  central  figure  in  it  before  the  human 
Smith  could  wholly  withdraw  into  the  offi- 
cial. The  approaching  lunch  hour  gave  him 
a  reasonable  excuse  for  appearing  in  the 
dining-room  unsummoned.  So  he  threw 
away  his  cigarette  and  went  as  quietly  as 
possible  down  the  passage.  It  was  only  as 
he  parted  the  curtains  that  she  heard  him. 
She  rose  at  once  and  began  to  gather  her 
work  into  the  mending  basket. 

To  his  amusement,  he  felt  curiously  em- 
barrassed and  obviously  much  less  at  ease 
than  Smith.  "Don't  move,"  he  said. 

"I  brought  my  work  in  here,  sir,"  she  be- 
gan, "because  the  light  is  better.  In  these 
87 


88  SMITH 

flats  you  can't  see  to  do  anything  at  the 
back." 

He  glanced  at  her  and  took  in  the  situa- 
tion with  disappointment.  The  command- 
ing, masterful,  feminine  Smith  had  vanished. 
There  was  only  the  precise  and  finished  par- 
lour maid,  who  made  him  feel  ill  at  ease  in 
spite  of  himself  and  without  knowing  why. 
His  impulse  was  to  flee,  but  pride  and  curi- 
osity held  him.  He  determined  to  conquer 
the  awkwardness  of  the  situation.  After  a 
pause,  he  succeeded  in  framing  a  sentence. 
"Those  look  suspiciously  like  some  things 
of  mine"  he  said,  and  picked  a  pyjama 
jacket  off  the  pile. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Smith. 

"Did  my— did  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker  tell 
you  to  mend  them?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered.  He  had  a  suspi- 
cion that  the  human  Smith  wore  the  shadow 
of  a  smile  lurking  behind  the  mask  of  the 
parlour  maid,  but  he  had  no  way  of  proving 
it.  "They  were  in  such  a  state,  sir,"  she 
continued,  alluding  to  the  pyjamas,  "that 


A  CONVERSATION  89 

I  thought  I  had  better  try  and  do  something 
with  them." 

The  answer  was  so  complete  that  again 
Freeman  was  at  a  loss.  The  conversation 
seemed  to  be  as  completely  ended  for  him 
as  it  had  been  for  the  wretched  Fletcher. 
But  he  made  a  fresh,  desperate  start.  "Do 
you  often  do  work  that  you're  not  told  to?" 
he  asked. 

"When  I  see  a  thing  that  wants  doing," 
Smith  replied,  "I  try  to  do  it." 

"That's  not  the  way  to  get  on  in  service," 
he  ventured. 

She  glanced  at  him  from  the  corner  of 
her  eye  to  reassure  herself,  then  without 
looking  up  answered,  "I  don't  like  to  see 
a  gentleman  go  about  in  rags." 

Freeman  inspected  the  garment  before 
him  and  smiled.  "I  am  afraid  that  some  of 
my  things  are  in  rather  a  beastly  state,"  he 
observed. 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  sir,"  said  Smith  can- 
didly, "it's  just  a  waste  of  labour  mending 
them."  She  picked  up  a  sock  from  the  pile, 


90  SMITH 

ran  her  hand  into  it  and  showed  it  to  him, 
a  network  of  holes.  "Look  at  that,  sir," 
she  exclaimed. 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  buy  some  more, 
hadn't  I?"  said  Freeman  somewhat  abashed. 
"I  hadn't  realised  how  bad  they  were." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Smith,  "I  don't  think  it 
would  do  you  any  harm." 

"I'll  make  a  memorandum  of  it,"  Free- 
man said  determinedly.  "I'll  get  a  half  a 
dozen  pairs  of  socks  this  very  day." 

Smith  looked  up  from  her  work  on  the 
pyjamas  and  corrected  him  respectfully  but 
firmly:  "If  you'd  excuse  my  saying  it,"  she 
said,* "I'd  get  a  dozen  while  you're  about  it, 
sir.  It  makes  them  last  ever  so  much 
longer." 

Freeman  laughed  softly.  "All  right,"  he 
assented,  "I'll  get  a  dozen  pairs." 

"And  you  want  some  pyjamas  badly,  sir," 
she  added. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "I'll  get  some 
pyjamas.  Anything  else ?" 

"Nothing  that  I  think  of  now,  sir,"  she 


A  CONVERSATION  91 

replied,  "except—  '  she  added,  glancing  at 
the  clock,  "are  you  ready  for  your  lunch, 
sir?  Mrs.  Dallas-Baker  is  lunching  out 
with  Mrs.  Pemberton.  She  told  me  to  tell 
you,  sir." 

"She  told  me  she  was  lunching  with  Mrs. 
Parsons-Pratt,"  he  remarked.  "But  that 
is  immaterial.  I'm  quite  ready  for  my 
lunch  whenever  the  cook  is." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  she  said.  She  gathered 
her  sewing  materials  with  one  of  her  swift, 
efficient  movements  and  disappeared  into  the 
pantry,  and  Freeman  seated  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  where  a  single  place  had 
been  set.  His  effort  to  discover  Smith,  the 
human  and  feminine  being,  had  not  been  as 
futile  as  he  might  have  expected,  thanks  to 
the  accident  of  the  socks  and  pyjamas,  but 
now  that  he  was  being  served  at  lunch,  he 
foresaw  that  even  such  a  mild  bond  of  sym- 
pathy as  garments  in  need  of  mending  would 
be  severed.  And  he  was  right.  Smith  re- 
turned shortly  with  shirred  eggs,  toast  in 
a  toast  rack,  then  an  entree  and  a  hot  plate, 


92  SMITH 

all  of  which  she  placed  accurately  in  their 
proper  places  and  in  professional  silence. 
Twice  he  ventured  a  remark,  harking  back 
to  the  socks,  but  it  secured  merely  the 
scantest  "Yes,  sir."  Finally  she  asked  him 
if  he  would  drink  hock  or  claret  and  he  said, 
"Hock,  please."  While  she  was  pouring  it, 
he  began  to  consider  the  curious  tyranny 
which  the  relation  of  master  and  servant,  as 
upper  class  life  understands  it,  imposes  upon 
both.  There,  for  example,  was  Smith, 
standing  beside  him  silent,  attendant  upon 
his  wants.  As  long  as  he  accepted  her  as  a 
ministering  piece  of  machinery  and  could 
ignore  her  presence,  as  one  does  the  ticking 
of  the  clock  or  the  crackling  in  the  fireplace, 
they  were  both  quite  at  their  ease,  he  with 
his  thoughts  and  she  with  hers.  However, 
the  moment  that  he  began  to  regard  her  as 
a  personality  and  to  wish  to  be  considerate 
of  her  as  a  woman,  he  would  make  them 
both  uncomfortable.  He  foresaw  what 
would  probably  happen,  but  nevertheless,  in 
a  spirit  of  inquiry,  he  resolved  to  go  ahead 


A  CONVERSATION  93 

and  attempt  to  dismiss  her  from  the  room 
on  grounds  of  consideration.  "Smith,"  he 
said,  "you  needn't  wait,  if  you  don't  want  to. 
Everything  is  here,  and  I  can  ring  when 
I'm  ready." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Smith,  but  she  did  not 
move. 

"Do  you  like  to  stand  there  and  watch 
me  eat?"  asked  Freeman. 

"I  like  to  do  things  properly,  sir,"  she 
replied. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  he  said  shortly. 

"If  you'd  rather  I  didn't  wait,  sir,"  she 
began  and  then  hesitated. 

"I  wish  you  to  please  yourself,"  said 
Freeman.  "Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 
She  made  no  answer,  and  after  a  pause  he 
added,  "Will  you  give  the  cook  my  compli- 
ments and  tell  her  that  these  eggs  are  excel- 
lent?" 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Smith. 

There  was  another  pause  and  Freeman 
felt  that  his  experiment  was  failing.  The 
ground  that  he  had  gained  with  the  socks 


94  SMITH 

and  pyjamas  was  slipping  away  from  him. 
In  desperation  he  went  back  to  it.  "I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  looking  after 
my  linen,"  he  said.  He  knew  that  the  effort 
was  poor,  but  it  was  the  best  that  he  could 
think  of. 

Again  Smith  said,  "Thank  you,  sir,"  and 
nothing  else. 

"I've  not  had  anyone  to  do  that  sort  of 

thing  for  me  for  a  long  time,"  he  went  on. 

Smith  received  this  information  in  silence 

and  offered  him  a  second  helping  of  the 

entree. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  said.     He  swallowed 
a  glass  of  hock  and,  looking  up  desperately, 
remarked,  "Jolly  weather,  isn't  it?" 
"Yes,  sir,"  said  Smith. 
Freeman  felt  that  it  was  something  to  have 
won  this  concession  from  her,  so  he  pressed 
his    advantage    immediately.     "It's    rather 
dull,  eating  alone,  isn't  it?"  he  observed. 

"Some  people  mind  it  and  some  don't," 
she  replied,  and  offered  him  a  cutlet. 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  he  said.     "I  mind 


'Smith  received  this  information  in  silence." 


A  CONVERSATION  95 

it.  You  don't  mind  my  making  a  few 
attempts  at  conversation,  do  you?" 

"Not  if  you  wish  it,  sir,"  said  Smith 
politely. 

"You  see,  you  mustn't  expect  too  much 
of  me,"  he  went  on  apologetically.  "I've 
been  away  too  long." 

She  had  finished  giving  him  his  vege- 
tables, refilled  his  wine-glass  and  had  re- 
treated to  the  end  of  the  sideboard,  where 
she  stood  sedately,  so  to  speak,  "at  atten- 
tion." There  was  a  long  silence  and  Free- 
man was  conscious  of  utter  defeat,  when 
suddenly  Smith  of  her  own  accord  spoke. 
"Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said,  and  then  broke 
off  hesitatingly.  Freeman  stopped  eating 
and  looked  up.  "Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  re- 
peated, "is  Rhodesia  far?" 

"It  is  rather,"  he  said  carelessly.  His 
attitude  was  that  of  the  man  who  is  luring 
a  shy  child  to  him  by  an  affectation  of  in- 
difference. 

"Farther  than  Australia?"  Smith  asked 
again. 


96  SMITH 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Freeman.     "Why?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Smith. 

Freeman  had  an  inspiration.  "Your 
father  is  a  farmer,  isn't  he?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Smith. 

"And  so  am  I,  you  know,"  said  Freeman. 

"I  expect  you  farm  a  lot  of  land,"  she 
suggested. 

"Two  thousand  acres,"  he  answered. 

He  watched  the  effect  that  acreage  made 
upon  her.  For  the  first  time  in  his  presence 
her  professional  self-consciousness  slipped 
away  and  she  spoke  as  the  farmer's  daugh- 
ter. "That  makes  the  difference,"  she  said. 
"They  say  you  can't  make  farming  pay 
unless  you  do  it  on  a  big  scale." 

"Perhaps  that  is  so,"  he  answered.  "Why 
did  you  go  into  service,"  he  went  on,  "in- 
stead of  helping  your  father?" 

"Oh,  we've  all  gone  out,  sir,"  she  an- 
swered. "There  are  too  many  mouths  to 
feed  at  home  and  father  has  enough  to  do 
to  make  both  ends  meet." 


A  CONVERSATION  97 

"Do  you  like  being  a  parlour  maid?"  he 
asked. 

"One  has  to  do  what  one  can,  sir,"  she 
answered. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Rhodesia?"  he  sug- 
gested after  a  pause.  "Able-bodied  young 
women  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold  there." 

"I  was  thinking  of  it,"  said  Smith  quietly. 

Freeman  looked  up  in  surprise.  "Think- 
ing of  going  to  Rhodesia?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered  naively  and  obvi- 
ously at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  surprise. 
"I  don't  know  anything  about  Rhodesia. 
I've  got  a  sister  married  in  Sydney  and  she 
says  I  can  stay  with  her  till  I  get  something 
to  do.  She  was  a  cook  and  one  of  those 
agencies  got  hold  of  her  and  took  her  out." 
She  suddenly  broke  off,  realising  that  he 
had  finished  his  cutlet,  and  with  a  little  mo- 
tion of  self-reproach  offered  him  the  dish 
again. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  said.  "What  were 
you  saying  about  your  sister?" 


98  SMITH 

She  was  still  self-reproachful  for  her 
breach  of  professional  duty.  "I  forget, 
sir,"  she  said  apologetically,  "when  I  begin 
talking." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,"  said  Freeman; 
"fire  away!" 

"I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Thompson  would 
say,"  she  replied  doubtfully,  "if  he  caught 
me  talking  to  a  gentleman  while  I  was  wait- 
ing at  table." 

"Who's  Mr.  Thompson?"  demanded 
Freeman. 

"He  was  the  butler  in  my  first  place,  sir," 
she  replied,  "and  he  trained  me." 

"Well,"  said  Freeman  smiling,  "I  think 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Mr. 
Thompson  isn't  in  the  least  likely  to  find 
out.  If  that's  a  sweet  you're  bringing  me," 
he  added,  "I  won't  have  it  at  any  price. 
Give  me  a  little  bit  of  cheese." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  Smith  assented  and 
brought  him  the  cheese. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "go  on  about  your  sister." 

"I  don't  think  the  mistress  would  like  to 


A  CONVERSATION  99 

have  me  talk  to  you,"  she  replied  in  a  tone 
of  doubt. 

"Then  I  shan't  eat  any  cheese,"  said 
Freeman. 

For  the  first  time  she  smiled  a  shy,  faint 
smile  and  dropped  her  eyes.  "Well,"  she 
said,  "my  sister  hadn't  been  in  Sydney  three 
months  before  a  gentleman  asked  her  to 
marry  him.  He  was  a  cab  proprietor,  and 
now  she  can  ride  in  forty-three  cabs,  if  she 
likes."  She  paused  to  fill  his  glass  again. 
"I  wrote  and  told  her,"  she  went  on,  "that 
she's  carriage  folk  now  and  no  mistake." 

Freeman  laughed.  "And  has  she  got  a 
cab  proprietor  waiting  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"They're  not  all  cab  proprietors  in  Syd- 
ney," she  answered  with  a  tinge  of  regret  in 
her  tone. 

"No,"  said  Freeman,  "I  suppose  not.  I 
expect  that  there  would  be  some  congestion 
of  the  traffic  if  they  were." 

"And  they  couldn't  all  make  a  living, 
could  they,  sir?"  suggested  Smith  quite  in- 
nocently. 


100  SMITH 

Freeman  nodded.  "They  would  be  re- 
duced to  driving  one  another  about,"  he  said. 

After  a  pause,  in  which  Smith  seemed  to 
be  mentally  contemplating  the  male  popu- 
lation of  Sydney  driving  one  another  about 
in  cabs,  she  looked  at  Freeman  again.  "My 
sister  says  I'd  marry  in  six  months,  if  I 
liked,"  she  said  simply. 

"Have  you  taken  a  ticket  yet?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  in  no  hurry,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"But  you  ought  to  marry,"  said  Freeman. 
"That's  what  young  women  are  made  for." 

Smith  looked  at  him  with  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  again.  "I  don't  need  to  go  to  the 
other  side  of  the  world  to  do  that,"  she  said. 

"Hum,"  said  Freeman.  "That  sounds  as 
if  you  had  something  in  view  not  very  far 
from  London." 

"Well,  sir,  I  may  have,  and  I  may  not," 
she  answered  respectfully  but  with  unmis- 
takable firmness. 

Freeman  looked  at  her  questioningly.  "I 
suppose  you  wouldn't  tell  me  who  it  is?"  he 
said. 


A  CONVERSATION  101 

She  made  no  reply,  suddenly  noting  that 
he  had  stopped  eating.  "You've  finished 
your  cheese,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  have  an  apple,"  he  said.  "You 
needn't  bother  about  changing  my  plate." 
She  offered  him  the  apples  and  he  took  one. 
"Well?"  he  asked,  "are  you  going  to  tell 
me?" 

"Here  I  am  talking  again,  sir,"  said 
Smith,  self  reproachfully. 

"It  helps  my  digestion,"  he  answered. 
"Please  continue." 

"Well,  sir,"  she  began,  "there  is  a  young 
fellow  who  has  asked  me  to  have  him,  and  of 
course  if  I  do,  I  shan't  go  to  Sydney." 

"Do  you  like  him?"  asked  Freeman. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  like  him,"  said  Smith,  "but  I 
don't  know  if  I  like  him  well  enough  to 
marry  him.  He  always  makes  me  laugh  at 
the  things  he  says." 

"That's  not  a  bad  thing  in  a  husband," 
Freeman  observed. 

Smith  considered  the  idea  for  a  moment. 
"But  I  don't  know  if  I  should  laugh  at 


102  SMITH 

them  if  I  heard  them  all  day  long,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Ah,"  said  Freeman  gravely,  "that's  al- 
ways the  danger  of  marrying  a  humourist." 

Smith  nodded.  "And  the  worst  is,"  she 
went  on,  "that  he  gets  so  cross  when  I  say 
'chestnuts.'  " 

"That's  exactly  it,"  said  Freeman;  "hu- 
mourists are  very  touchy.  They  look  upon 
it  as  a  personal  affront  if  you've  heard  their 
jokes  before."  He  took  his  cigarette  case 
from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  looked  about 
for  matches.  In  a  moment  she  had  put 
them  beside  him. 

"If  you're  ready,  I'll  get  your  coffee,  sir," 
she  said,  and  disappeared  into  the  pantry. 

Freeman  filled  his  lungs  with  the  pleasant 
smoke  and  smiled.  "Well,"  he  thought  to 
himself,  "she  can  be  almost  human  even 
with  me."  But  what  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind  was  not  the  thought  that  he  had 
achieved  a  triumph  in  making  the  profes- 
sional and  impersonal  Smith  a  human  being, 
but  that  she  was  a  human  being  of  such  un- 


A  CONVERSATION  103 

usual  dignity  and  sweetness  and  character. 
His  meditations  were  presently  broken  in 
upon,  however,  as  he  heard  someone  open- 
ing the  front  door  and  entering  the  hallway. 
He  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  called,  "Is 
that  you,  Rose?"  Dallas-Baker's  voice  an- 
swered him. 


THE  BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BROTHERS-IN-LAW   DIFFER 

"HELLO,"  said  Freeman  as  Dallas-Baker 
came  into  the  dining-room,  "are  you  back?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  brother-in-law.  "The 
case  I  was  in  came  to  a  sudden  end,  and  I 
thought  I'd  come  home." 

"You'll  have  some  coffee?"  suggested 
Freeman,  for  Smith  had  returned  with  the 
coffee  things,  again  the  silent,  perfect  par- 
lour maid." 

"No,"  said  Dallas-Baker;  "IVe  already 
had  mine.  I  lunched  in  Hall.  I  didn't  ex- 
pect to  find  anyone  in." 

"You  knew  Rose  was  lunching  out?"  ob- 
served Freeman. 

Dallas-Baker  nodded  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"Who  is  this  Mrs.  Pemberton  that  she  is 
lunching  with?  I  don't  think  I've  met 
her?"  Freeman  asked  after  a  pause. 

Dallas-Baker  raised  his  eyebrows.  "Mrs. 
107 


108  SMITH 

Pemberton?"  he  said.  "Did  she  say  she  was 
lunching  with  Mrs.  Pemberton?" 

"Well,  there  may  be  some  mistake,"  said 
Freeman.  "She  told  me  this  morning  that 
she  was  lunching  with  somebody  named 
Parsons-Pratt,  I  think,  but  she  left  word 
with  Smith  that  it  was  Mrs.  Pemberton." 

Dallas-Baker  laughed  softly.  "Bless 
me,"  he  said,  "but  how  Rose  does  love  her 
little  mysteries.  Why,  I  stopped  into  the 
Ritz  not  twenty  minutes  ago,  and  saw  her 
lunching  with  Algy." 

"With  Algy?"  said  Freeman,  and  his  face 
clouded. 

"Certainly,"  said  his  brother-in-law. 
"Why  not?  They  didn't  happen  to  see  me, 
but  I  saw  them  very  distinctly  at  a  table  by 
the  window." 

Freeman  was  silent  for  a  moment,  wait- 
ing for  Smith  to  leave  the  room  with  the 
dishes  she  was  taking  from  the  serving  table. 
When  she  had  gone  he  turned  to  his  brother- 
in-law.  "Herbert,"  he  said,  "how  do  you 
explain  this?  She  gives  the  names  of  two 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     109 

different  women  whom  she  says  she  is  en- 
gaged to  lunch  with  and  then  goes  to  a 
restaurant  with  Peppercorn." 

"I  don't  explain  it,"  said  Dallas-Baker 
calmly.  "I  accept  it.  It  is  possible,  of 
course,"  he  added,  "that  she  had  intended 
lunching  with  the  women  she  named,  or  it 
is  possible  that  she  did  not  care  to  tell  you 
she  was  lunching  with  Algy  and  got  mixed 
in  her  excuses." 

"But  you  appear  to  be  strangely  indiffer- 
ent," Freeman  answered. 

"I'm  the  model  husband,"  said  Dallas- 
Baker;  "I  make  a  point  of  never  interfer- 
ing." 

Freeman  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to 
make  sure  they  were  alone  and  then  drew 
his  chair  nearer  to  his  brother-in-law. 
"Herbert,"  he  began,  "I  have  been  wanting 
to  have  a  talk  with  you  for  several  days,  but 
have  hesitated  from  a  natural  unwillingness 
to  be  told  to  mind  my  own  business.  This 
circumstance,  however,  forces  me  to  speak 
out." 


110  SMITH 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Dallas-Baker, 
"what  is  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  "do  you  think  it's 
— let's  call  it  wise  to  let  Rose  go  about  so 
much  with  this  Peppercorn?" 

Dallas-Baker  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
"Why  shouldn't  she?"  he  demanded. 

Freeman  hesitated.  Dallas-Baker's  sur- 
prise embarrassed  him.  "Well,"  he  began, 
"I've  been  here  a  fortnight.  Not  a  day  has 
passed  without  that  young  man  coming  here 
to  at  least  one  meal.  I  never  come  into  the 
flat  without  finding  him  sprawling  about, 
and  when  he's  not  here  it's  because  he's  out 
with  Rose." 

"Rose  likes  him,"  said  Dallas-Baker  sim- 

piy- 

"That  is  a  fact  that  could  hardly  escape 
anyone's  observation,"  said  Freeman  coldly. 

"But  I  like  him,  too,"  said  Dallas-Baker. 
"He's  just  as  much  my  friend  as  he  is 
Rose's." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  Freeman;  "that  increases 
my  difficulty  in  discussing  the  matter." 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER    11U 

"And  she  does  him  good,"  Dallas-Baker 
went  on.  "It's  the  very  best  thing  for  a 
young  man  to  go  about  with  a  woman  older 
than  himself." 

"If  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  Freeman 
gravely,  "I  should  think  the  toe  of  my  boot 
would  be  a  damned  sight  better  for  him  than 
the  uninterrupted  society  of  my  wife." 

Dallas-Baker  looked  at  Freeman  in  sur- 
prise. "But  you  don't  suggest,"  he  said, 
"that  I  should — "  He  stopped  in  annoyed 
amazement. 

"Kick  him  out?"  said  Freeman,  finishing 
the  suggestion  for  him.  "I  do,  indeed." 

"But  I've  no  reason  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind,"  said  Dallas-Baker  with  some  warmth. 
"He's  always  been  charming  to  me.  Be- 
sides, Rose  wouldn't  hear  of  it." 

"Rose  can  be  brought  to  see  that  she's 
making  a  fool  of  herself,"  said  Freeman. 

"But  I  like  him,"  said  Dallas-Baker. 
"I'm  very  much  attached  to  him." 

"Well,  I  suppose  there  is  no  accounting 
for  taste,"  said  Freeman. 


112  SMITH 

Dallas-Baker  laid  his  half  burned  ciga- 
rette on  the  ash  tray.  "Tom,"  he  began, 
"if  you  will  forgive  my  saying  so,  I  think 
this  is  a  matter  in  which  you  are  not  capable 
of  judging.  You've  been  living  in  a  primi- 
tive state  where  men  are  tyrants  and  women 
chattels.  Your  ideas  are  all  very  well  in 
Rhodesia,  but  this  is  London." 

Freeman  rose  and  pushed  back  his  chair. 
"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "in  London, 
Bulawayo  or  Kamchatka  there  is  only  one 
result  of  throwing  a  young  man  and  a 
young  woman  in  one  another's  society  all 
day  long." 

Dallas-Baker  also  rose  and  pushed  his 
chair  back  with  a  movement  of  impatience. 
"Nonsense,"  he  said  sharply.  "We  live  in 
a  highly  civilised  community.  We've  got 
ten  thousand  interests  to  occupy  us.  Algy 
has  never  thought  of  Rose  in  that  way." 

"Then  all  I  can  say,"  said  Freeman,  "the 
more  fool  he." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Dallas-Baker  as- 
toundedly. 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     113 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  replied  Freeman 
steadily.  "Rose  is  a  pretty  woman.  She 
is  well  dressed  and  very  jolly.  If  the 
young  man  can  be  with  her  morning,  noon 
and  night  with  all  the  advantages  of  a  com- 
placent husband  who  sits  by  and  twiddles 
his  thumbs,  and  he  doesn't  make  love  to  her, 
he  must  be  a  contemptible  ass." 

"But  you  are  contradicting  yourself," 
said  Dallas-Baker  warmly.  "You're  gross- 
ly contradicting  yourself." 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  Freeman.  "With 
decent,  normal  people  friendship  between 
the  sexes  is  impossible.  It  either  leads  on 
to  love  or  it  follows  it." 

"Either  an  hors  d'ceuvre  or  a  savoury,  I 
suppose,"  suggested  Dallas-Baker  ironic- 
ally. 

"If  you  like,"  said  Freeman.  "It's  the 
fact,  state  it  as  you  please." 

"Tom,"  said  Dallas-Baker  in  a  tone  of 
vexation  which  he  had  not  shown  before, 
"Rose  knows  quite  well  how  to  take  care  of 
herself.  After  all,  I  know  her  better  than 


114  SMITH 

you  do,  I  suppose.  She  is  my  wife  as  well 
as  your  sister." 

Freeman  nodded.  "If  she  weren't,"  he 
said  drily,  "you  can  bet  your  boots  I 
shouldn't  be  discussing  her  with  you." 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  said  Dallas- 
Baker  more  conciliatingly.  "She's  not  at 
all  the  sort  of  woman  to  do  anything  silly. 
She  takes  no  interest  in  love  and  that  kind 
of  nonsense." 

"Surely,"  said  Freeman  savagely,  "she 
has  her  five  senses  like  other  women." 

"Of  course  she  has  her  five  senses,"  Dal- 
las-Baker answered,  "but  they  are  spiritual- 
ised, they're —  '  he  tried  for  the  word  he 
wanted  and  broke  off  in  exasperation — 
"You're  so  coarse!"  he  cried. 

"That  may  be,"  said  Freeman  calmly. 
"It  is  far  better  that  they  should  be  decent, 
normal  people  and  break  every  command- 
ment in  the  decalogue  than  the  monsters 
you  represent  them.  They  must  be  beneath 
apes." 

"Come!  come!"  cried  Dallas-Baker  hotly. 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     115 

"This  is  going  too  far!  This  is  beyond  a 
joke.  Beneath  apes!"  he  repeated  angrily. 
"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  It's  mon- 
strous. Upon  my  soul,  you've  got  no  right 
to  bring  Rose  into  such  a  discussion!" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Freeman,  "that 
when  a  woman  says  she  has  engagements  to 
lunch  with  two  different  women  and  then 
lunches  alone  with  a  man  that  she  makes 
herself  a  subject  for  discussion.  You  may 
be  sure  that  if  her  husband  and  brother  don't 
talk  about  her  other  people  will." 

"But  don't  you  understand,"  said  Dallas- 
Baker  impatiently,  "that  those  foolish  little 
make  believes  are  part  of  the  game?  They 
do  no  harm.  She  knows  you  don't  like 
Algy,  and  very  likely  she  said  what  she  did 
merely  to  save  you  the  annoyance  of  know- 
ing that  she  was  lunching  with  him." 

"That  is  a  very  interesting  explanation," 
said  Freeman,  "but  if  I  were  her  husband, 
it  would  not  satisfy  me,  and  I  am  not  satis- 
fied with  it  as  her  brother."  He  stopped  as 
he  heard  the  front  door.  The  next  mo- 


116  SMITH 

ment  Rose  and  Algy  came  into  the  dining- 
room. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Rose. 
"Your  voices  can  be  heard  all  over  the  build- 
ing! What  are  you  talking  about  in  here 
of  all  places?  It's  nearly  three  o'clock." 

"Nothing  at  all,"  said  Dallas-Baker. 
"Nothing's  the  matter."  He  turned  to 
Freeman  and  added  sulkily,  "A  joke  is  a 
joke,  but  there  are  limits."  Having  deliv- 
ered this  parting  shot,  he  swung  round  on 
his  heel  and  went  out. 

Rose  cast  a  look  of  half  amused  wonder 
about  her  and  followed  him. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  glanced  from  one  to  the 
other  of  his  disappearing  hosts  and  then  to 
Freeman.  "I  can't  help  thinking,"  he  ob- 
served calmly,  "that  you've  been  trying  to 
make  yourself  amiable." 

"Right,"  said  Freeman,  "and  apparently 
my  efforts  haven't  met  with  the  success  they 
no  doubt  deserved." 

"I  expect  your  touch  is  a  little  elephan- 
tine," observed  Mr.  Peppercorn. 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     117 

Freeman  smiled  good-humouredly.  "You 
can't  expect  me  to  have  such  a  facility  for 
small  talk  as  you  who  make  a  business  of 
it." 

"Art,  not  business,  my  dear  fellow,"  cor- 
rected Mr.  Peppercorn.  He  dropped  lan- 
guidly into  the  chair  by  the  fireplace  and 
sighed. 

"I  hope  you  find  it  a  profitable  one,"  said 
Freeman. 

"It  is  my  only  means  of  livelihood,"  re- 
plied the  youth,  "and,  as  you  see,  I  go  to  a 
tolerable  tailor."  He  got  up  impudently, 
turned  around  to  show  the  fit  of  his  coat, 
and  dropped  into  the  chair  again.  "Also," 
he  continued,  "I  am  able  to  lunch  at  the 
Ritz  when  the  fancy  seizes  me." 

"But  then,"  said  Freeman  blandly,  "un- 
less I'm  mistaken,  you  allow  your  compan- 
ion to  pay  the  bill." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  made  neither  denial  nor 
affirmation.  He  busied  himself  in  selecting 
a  cigarette  from  his  case. 

"Haven't  you  been  lunching  at  the  Ritz 


118  SMITH 

to-day  with  Rose?"  Freeman  went  on  with 
deliberation. 

"I  have,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"And  didn't  she  pay  the  bill?"  asked  Free- 
man. 

"She  did,"  he  replied. 

Freeman  looked  at  him  contemptuously. 
"I'm  afraid  you'll  think  me  unreasonably 
squeamish,"  he  said,  "but  I  shouldn't  like  to 
have  a  meal  stood  me  by  a  woman.  It 
would  make  me  feel  uncomfortably  like  one 
of  the  alien  gentlemen  for  whom  the  police 
provide  a  ticket  for  the  Continent  and  an 
escort  to  Charing  Cross." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  laughed,  but  not  very 
mirthfully.  "You're  too  absurd,"  he  said. 
"Why  on  earth  shouldn't  Rose  ask  me  to 
lunch  with  her  at  a  restaurant  as  much  as 
in  her  own  house?" 

"Can  you  tell  me  why  she  should  ask  you 
to  lunch  with  her  at  all?"  said  Freeman. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  who 
had  quite  recovered  his  usual  composure. 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     119 

"She  finds  me  useful,  entertaining  and  in- 
structive." 

"Really?"  exclaimed  Freeman,  feeling 
more  amazement  than  he  cared  to  show.  "I 
suppose  you  have  been  helping  her  try  on 
a  frock  this  morning." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "Not 
frocks  this  morning.  We  bought  half  a 
dozen  pairs  of  stockings  and  then  went  on 
to  the  National  Gallery.  Ever  been  there?" 

"How  old  are  you?"  Freeman  demanded 
after  a  pause. 

"Twenty-eight,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn 
promptly,  "but  I  think  I  look  less." 

"You  appear  healthy  enough  and  fairly 
strong,"  Freeman  continued  musingly. 
"Haven't  you  ever  done  any  work?" 

"I  once  was  in  a  motor  car  business,"  Mr. 
Peppercorn  replied,  "but  it  went  to  smash." 

"And  do  you  consider  doing  any  thing- 
else?"  Freeman  inquired  with  exaggerated 
civility. 

"I'm   vaguely   looking   out   for   another 


120  SMITH 

motor  car  business,"   Mr.   Peppercorn   re- 
plied,   "but   have   nothing   immediately   in 


view." 


"That  seems  to  be  the  refuge  of  every 
incompetent  wastrel  in  the  Kingdom,"  Free- 
man observed  with  some  bitterness. 

"In  Europe,  my  dear  fellow,"  corrected 
Mr.  Peppercorn  blandly. 

Freeman  looked  at  him  and  shook  his 
head.  "I  should  have  more  patience  with 
you,  Algy,"  he  said,  "if  you  were  a  fool  pure 
and  simple,  but  you're  not  that." 

"Ah,  now  you  flatter  me,"  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn answered.  "I  must  be  on  my  guard." 

"Yes,"  Freeman  went  on,  "you're  shrewd 
enough  in  your  way.  I  daresay  you 
could  make  quite  a  decent  living  if  you 
tried." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
flicking  the  ashes  of  his  cigarette  toward  the 
fireplace,  "we're  taught  to  do  our  duty  in 
that  state  of  life  in  which  a  merciful  provi- 
dence has  placed  us.  The  civilisation  of  the 
present  day  has  given  rise  to  a  variety  of 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     121 

professions;  and  I  have  adopted  one  which 
is  not  nearly  so  well  paid  as  it  should  be, 
considering  how  essential  it  is  to  modern 
society." 

"And  that  is?"  inquired  Freeman  atten- 
tively. 

"It  is  too  new  to  have  a  definite  name," 
replied  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "but  those  who  fol- 
low it  are  known  either  as  poodle  dogs  or 
tame  cats." 

"At  least  you  have  no  false  shame,"  said 
Freeman. 

"Why  should  I?"  replied  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn. "I  am  a  benefactor  of  my  species. 
What  do  you  suppose  Rose  and  Herbert 
would  do  without  me?  I  shop  with  Rose 
and  take  her  to  the  play  when  Herbert  has 
briefs  to  read.  On  Sundays  I  play  golf 
with  Herbert,  and  I  play  just  well  enough 
for  him  to  beat  me  on  the  last  green.  If 
Rose  is  unwell,  I  play  piquet  with  him  in 
the  evening.  In  return  they  make  life 
pleasant  for  me.  They  take  me  away  with 
them  in  the  vacations,  and  when  a  trades- 


122  SMITH 

man  duns  me,  neither  Herbert  nor  Rose 
minds  lending  me  a  tenner." 

"But  are  you  under  the  impression  that 
this  sort  of  thing  will  go  on  forever?"  said 
Freeman. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Peppercorn. 
"I  find  by  experience  that  these  jobs  last 
about  two  years.  I  was  two  years  with  the 
Whitstables — of  course  the  peerage  adds  to 
one's  value  afterwards,  but  it's  not  much 
catch.  Lady  Whitstable—  He  paused, 
took  the  cigarette  butt  from  the  holder,  blew 
through  the  latter  and  replaced  it  in  its  case. 
"Lady  Whitstable,"  he  went  on,  "wanted 
the  earth,  but  she  wanted  it  at  a  great  reduc- 
tion. After  I  left  her  I  was  two  years  with 
the  Isaac  Cohens.  Give  me  the  Cohens 
every  time.  Charming  people!" 

"Generous,  I  suppose,"  said  Freeman. 

"Quite,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "and  really 
not  at  all  exacting." 

"Well,  and  after  two  years?"  said  Free- 
man. 

"They  get  sick  of  me,"  Mr.  Peppercorn 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     123 

replied.  "I  can't  keep  them  on  good  terms 
with  one  another  any  more.  And  then  they 
turn  and  rend  me/'  He  smiled  broadly  and 
went  on.  "I  know  all  the  signs  a  month  or 
two  beforehand,  and  I  start  looking  out  for 
somebody  else." 

"And  you  are  content  to  go  on  in  that 
way  for  the  rest  of  your  life?"  demanded 
Freeman. 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn frankly.  "A  tame  cat  like  an  actor 
should  make  his  final  bow  before  his  public 
gets  tired  of  him.  One  of  these  days, 
to-morrow  or  in  ten  years,  I  shall  fall  in 
love  with  a  nice  girl  with  about  two  thou- 
sand a  year." 

"But  why  should  she  marry  you?"  Free- 
man asked  sceptically. 

"Because  I'm  amusing,"  he  replied,  "or 
because  I  know  nice  people,  or  because  I 
ask  her.  That  is  the  commonest  reason  for 
which  an  heiress  marries  a  pauper;  and 
we  shall  live  very  comfortably  on  her 
money." 


124  SMITH 

He  stopped,  and  Freeman  surveyed  him 
with  a  curious,  wondering  contempt.  "A 
parasite  to  the  end,"  he  said  slowly,  as  if 
thinking  aloud.  "I'd  rather  sweep  a  cross- 
ing!" 

Mr.  Peppercorn  regarded  him  with  an 
amiable  pity.  "That's  where  we  differ,"  he 
said.  "I  wouldn't." 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  think  me  an  awful 
donkey,"  Freeman  observed,  after  a  pause, 
"but  I  don't  believe  that  you  or  anyone  can 
get  any  permanent  satisfaction  out  of  life 
without  working." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"that  is  too  old-fashioned  even  for  you.  Be- 
lieve me,  regular  employment  is  merely  the 
hashish  of  the  unintellectual." 

Just  then  Smith  came  into  the  dining- 
room  with  a  look  of  inquiry  at  the  coffee 
cups  that  were  still  at  the  end  of  the  table. 
"Clear  them  away,"  said  Freeman.  "We're 
going."  He  rose  and  led  the  way  down  the 
passage  to  the  drawing-room,  pondering  on 


BROTHERS-IN-LAW  DIFFER     125 

the  contrast  which  two  such  characters  as 
the  efficient  and  wholesome-minded  Smith 
and  the  effete  and  idle  Peppercorn  seemed  to 
offer. 


EMILY  DISCLOSES  HER  INTEN- 
TIONS 


CHAPTER   VIII 

EMILY   DISCLOSES    HEE   INTENTIONS 

As  Freeman  and  Algy  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room they  saw  Dallas-Baker  leaving  it, 
and  Rose  standing  by  the  fireplace,  her  face 
flushed  and  distorted  with  anger.  The  mo- 
ment she  saw  her  brother,  she  turned  on  him. 
"What  have  you  been  saying  to  Herbert?" 
she  demanded. 

Freeman  made  no  reply,  but  glanced  at 
Peppercorn. 

"How  dare  you!"  she  went  on.  "It's  in- 
famous !  How  dare  you  interfere  with  me  1" 

Freeman  turned  to  Algy.  "Would  you 
like  to  make  yourself  scarce,  young  man?" 
he  said  quietly. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  smiled,  settled  himself 
in  a  comfortable  chair,  and  began  fum- 
bling in  his  coat  pockets  for  his  cigarette 
case.  "Not  particularly,"  he  replied.  "I 
don't  know  of  any  spectacle  more  entertain- 
129 


130  SMITH 

ing  than  a  quarrel  between  nearest  and 
dearest." 

Freeman  turned  to  his  sister.  "Will  you 
tell  him  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Rose  shortly. 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  addressing  Mr. 
Peppercorn  again,  "it  may  surprise  you, 
but  I'm  quite  old-fashioned.  I  wash  my 
dirty  linen  in  private.  You  must  clear 
out." 

Without  pausing  in  his  search  for  a 
match,  Mr.  Peppercorn  replied  amiably, 
"I'm  sorry,  but  I  don't  intend  to." 

Freeman  bit  his  lip.  "If  you  don't,"  he 
said  in  a  very  low  voice  that  shook  with 
anger,  "I  swear  I'll  knock  you  down  and  put 
you  out." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  looking 
him  steadily  in  the  eye,  "I'm  afraid  you 
must  knock  me  down.  You  are  obviously 
much  stronger  than  I,  but  this  is  an  occasion 
when  it  is  better  to  take  a  licking  than 
knuckle  under." 

Freeman  took  a  step  backward  and  sur- 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       131 

veyed  him  in  undisguised  amazement. 
"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  he  said. 

Rose  left  the  fireplace  by  which  she  had 
been  standing  and  touched  Peppercorn  on 
the  shoulder.  "Please  go,  Algy,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  rose  immediately  and 
bowed  low  to  her.  "Certainly,"  he  said  in 
his  most  gallant  manner.  In  the  doorway 
he  stopped  and,  looking  back  at  Freeman, 
smiled  triumphantly.  "I  never  thought  for 
a  moment  that  you  would  hit  me,"  he  said. 
"A  scuffle  in  a  room  with  a  woman  in  it — 
one  talks  about  that  sort  of  thing,  but  it 
doesn't  come  off."  With  that  he  bowed 
himself  out  and  closed  the  door. 

When  he  was  gone,  Rose  turned  to  her 
brother.  "Now,"  she  said  defiantly,  "what 
have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

Freeman  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  he 
held  out  his  arms.  "Look  here,  Rose,"  he 
said  tenderly. 

She  backed  away  from  him  with  a  shud- 
der of  abhorrence.  "For  goodness'  sake, 
don't  touch  me!"  she  exclaimed. 


132  SMITH 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  "sit  down  and  let 
us  talk  quietly." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do!" 
she  cried  impatiently.  "You  are  going  to 
sentimentalise.  You  can  keep  all  that  to 
yourself." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  and  put  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders.  "We  shall  under- 
stand one  another  better,"  he  said,  "if  we 
make  use  of  a  little  sympathy;  don't  you 
think  so?" 

With  a  twist  of  her  body  she  threw  off  his 
hands  and  backed  away  from  him  again. 
"What  has  sympathy  got  to  do  with  it?"  she 
demanded.  "We  ask  you  to  come  and  stay 
here.  We  tell  you  to  treat  the  place  like  a 
hotel." 

"If  I  had  wanted  a  hotel,"  he  put  in,  "I 
should  have  stayed  at  one." 

"We  make  absolutely  no  claim  upon 
you,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  his  remark,  "and 
now  you  can  find  nothing  better  to  do  than 
to  fill  my  husband  with  absurd  suspicions 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       133 

about  Algy  and  me!"  She  broke  off  and, 
going  to  the  window,  threw  it  open,  as  if 
suffering  for  lack  of  air,  and  sat  on  the  case- 
ment sill,  breathing  excitedly. 

"Steady,  Rose!  steady!"  Freeman  said 
soothingly.  "Don't  forget  that  I  spoke  to 
you  about  it  first  and  you  refused  to  listen 
to  me.  I  told  you  that  I  should  go  to 
Herbert." 

"One  says  those  things,  but  doesn't  do 
them!"  she  cried  impatiently  and  motioned 
away  his  attempt  to  take  her  hand. 

"I'm  awfully  fond  of  you,  Rose,"  Free- 
man began  again.  "What  do  you  expect 
me  to  do  when  I  see  you  behaving  in  a  way 
that,  that—  '  he  stopped,  embarrassed  and 
at  a  loss  to  express  what  was  in  his  mind. 

"Well,  what?"  she  demanded,  "out  with 
it." 

"I'd  rather  not,"  he  answered.  "You  are 
my  sister." 

She  faced  him  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  then  began  in  a  cold,  measured  voice: 


134  SMITH 

"What  right  have  you  to  preach  to  me? 
You  set  yourself  up  on  a  ridiculous  ped- 
estal—" 

"Far  from  it,"  he  interrupted,  but  she 
paid  no  heed  to  him. 

"Don't  you  think  that  I  know  that  father 
had  to  pay  to  get  you  out  of  a  scrape  with 
a  woman  at  Cambridge?"  she  continued. 
"Don't  you  think  I  know  what  people  said 
about  you  and  Queenie  Bishop?" 

"If  I  came  rather  a  cropper,"  he  answered 
steadily,  "that's  no  reason  why  you  should 
come  one,  too." 

"But  what  is  it  that  you've  got  to  reproach 
me  with?"  she  demanded. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  think  your  behaviour 
with  Algy  Peppercorn  is  awfully  indiscreet." 

"Bah!"  she  exclaimed. 

"But  you  must  know  that  there  can  be 
only  one  explanation  of  it,"  he  rejoined. 

"What  nonsense!"  she  said  quietly. 
"You're  so  theatrical!  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  think  that  there's  anything  really  wrong 
between  Algy  and  me?" 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       135 

Freeman  looked  at  her  perplexedly. 
"My  dear,"  he  said,  "how  can  you  expect 
me  to  answer  that  question?" 

"No,"  she  insisted,  "I  ask  it  quite  seri- 
ously; answer  it." 

"I  hope  with  all  my  heart  there  isn't,"  he 
replied. 

"That  won't  do,"  she  said  firmly.  "An- 
swer me  yes  or  no." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  you  insist,  my  answer 
is  yes!' 

Rose  burst  into  a  scream  of  harsh  laugh- 
ter and  sank  back  into  the  armchair  near 
the  fireplace.  "Poor  Algy!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  can't  imagine  anything  that  would  bore 
him  more  than  to  make  love  to  me." 

He  regarded  her  searchingly  for  a  mo- 
ment, wondering  whether  she  was  acting  and 
then  a  sense  of  relief  stole  over  him.  At 
least  he  believed  her.  "Well,"  he  said  good- 
humour  edly,  "at  all  events  I've  made  you 
laugh." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "You're  really  too  ridic- 
ulous." 


136  SMITH 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  he  said  thoughtfully, 
"but  let  us  look  calmly  at  the  matter.  If 
Algy  doesn't  make  love  to  you,  how  much 
do  you  suppose  he  cares  for  you?  He's  only 
on  the  make,  like  the  rest  of  your  friends. 
If  he  came  across  a  woman  to-morrow,  out 
of  whom  he  could  do  a  little  better  than  out 
of  you,  he'd  fling  you  aside  like  an  old 
glove." 

Her  hesitation  showed  him  that  she  shared 
in  this  view  of  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "Oh, 
well!"  she  answered,  "I  shall  get  tired  of  him 
long  before  he  gets  tired  of  me." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  time.  Rose 
had  leaned  forward  and  was  looking  into 
the  fire.  He  drew  a  chair  next  hers  and  sat 
down  in  it.  "Will  you  let  me  say  some- 
thing to  you,"  he  began,  "something  that  I 
have  had  on  my  heart  almost  ever  since  I 
came  here?" 

She  made  no  answer  and  he  put  his  hand 
out  gently  and  took  hers.  "You  know  it's 
a  rotten  life  you're  leading,  and  these  people 
you've  got  around  you — what  a  poor  lot  they 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       137 

are!  There's  Cynthia—  "  he  paused,  trying 
to  recall  her  name,  and  Rose  prompted 
him. 

"Rosenberg,"  she  said. 

"That's  it,"  he  went  on.  "Well,  she's 
married  a  fat  old  German  stockbroker  for 
his  money,  and  when  her  baby's  ill  she  has 
the  heart  to  leave  it  all  day.  She  won't 
nurse  it,  because  it  would  interfere  with  her 
amusements.  Then  there's  Emily  Chap- 
man. She  ought  to  have  been  married 
years  ago." 

"It's  not  for  want  of  trying  that  she 
hasn't,"  Rose  observed  with  a  smile. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  for  her,"  said  Free- 
man. "Her  life  consists  merely  of  going 
from  one  bridge  party  to  another.  And  do 
you  think  she  gets  any  happiness  out  of 
it?  You  have  only  got  to  look  into  her 
eyes  to  see  how  restless  and  dissatisfied 
she  is." 

"She  didn't  treat  you  so  well,"  put  in 
Rose,  "that  you  need  waste  any  sympathy 
on  her/' 


138  SMITH 

"I'm  sure  at  heart  she's  a  very  decent 
girl,"  said  Freeman.  "If  she  could  find  a 
nice  man — " 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her  yourself?" 
said  Rose.  "You  are  looking  for  a  wife." 

"What  would  she  do  on  an  African 
farm?"  he  answered  hopelessly. 

"I  can't  exactly  see  her  as  a  farmer's 
wife,"  Rose  assented. 

"Still,"  said  Freeman,  "I'm  not  sure  that 
she  doesn't  worry  along  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  you.  You  are  restless  and  dissatisfied, 
too,  Rose,  dear."  He  lowered  his  voice  a 
little  and  went  on  very  gently  and  seriously : 
"Don't  you  think  you'd  be  far  happier  if 
you  had  children?  It  only  means  giving  up 
a  few  selfish  pleasures." 

"I  dare  say  I'll  horrify  you,"  said  Rose 
bluntly,  "but  I  prefer  the  selfish  pleasures. 
The  truth  is,  I  don't  want  a  child.  It  would 
bore  me  to  death.  I  haven't  the  maternal 
instinct  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  looking  down  at  her. 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       139 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there  can  be  nothing  more 
to  say  then,  can  there?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered.  "I'm  glad 
you  appreciate  it  at  last.  We  shall  both  be 
happier." 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  replaced  it 
thoughtfully.  "May  I  have  the  dining- 
room  for  a  little  while?"  he  asked.  "I  have 
some  work  to  do  and  I  should  like  to  spread 
my  papers  on  the  large  table." 

"Of  course,"  she  answered.  "Ask  Smith 
to  clear  it." 

He  bent  over  her,  kissed  her  on  the  fore- 
head and  went  out. 

When  he  was  gone,  she  rose  idly,  went  to 
the  window,  closed  it  again  and  took  a  ciga- 
rette from  the  silver  box  on  the  table.  She 
was  lighting  it,  when  the  door  opened  and 
Smith  announced  Miss  Chapman. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Emily,  "how  are 
you  this  delightful  rainy  afternoon?" 

Rose  finished  lighting  her  cigarette,  filled 
her  lungs  with  the  smoke  and  then  replied, 
"I'm  getting  rather  tired  of  Tom.  I  don't 


140  SMITH 

think  I  can  stand  his  disapproval  of  every- 
thing I  do  much  longer." 

"Have  you  been  having  a  row?"  asked 
Emily. 

"He's  been  lecturing  me  about  Algy," 
Rose  answered.  "It's  rather  funny,  isn't  it, 
from  Tom?" 

Emily  walked  restlessly  to  the  window 
and  gazed  out.  "He's  changed  a  good  deal 
in  the  last  eight  years,"  she  said. 

"He's  become  quite  impossible,"  said 
Rose.  "I  wish  to  goodness  he'd  find  a  wife 
and  take  himself  off." 

She  smoked  in  silence,  while  the  little 
clock  on  the  mantelshelf  ticked  busily  and 
Emily  Chapman  gazed  out  the  window  into 
the  rain, — seeing  nothing.  At  last  Emily 
turned  and  came  toward  her.  "Rose,"  she 
said,  "would  you  hate  me,  if  I  married  him?" 

"Hate  you,  my  dear?"  cried  Rose  lightly. 
"You'd  do  me  the  greatest  possible  service." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Emily,  after  a  pause, 
"that  you've  told  him  that  I've  been  twice 
engaged  since  he  went  away?" 


EMILY'S  INTENTIONS       141 

Rose  smiled.  "No,  of  course  not,"  she 
answered.  "Why  should  I?" 

"It  would  only  have  been  natural,"  Emily 
replied.  "But  it  was  good  of  you  not  to. 
I  know  that  you  can  queer  the  whole  thing, 
if  you  like,"  she  went  on.  "That's  why  I 
thought  it  would  be  better  to  speak  to  you 
first.  I  dare  say  you  saw  that  I  was  think- 
ing of  it." 

"I  doubted  if  you  had  come  here  every 
day  for  a  week  merely  to  see  me,"  said  Rose. 

Emily  leaned  down,  put  her  hands  on 
Rose's  shoulders,  and  looked  into  her  face. 
There  was  an  anxious,  appealing  look  in 
her  eyes.  "You  wouldn't  do  anything 
shabby  to  me,  Rose?"  she  said. 

Rose  smiled.  "Of  course  not,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Because,"  Emily  went  on,  "if  you've  got 
anything  against  it,  I  won't  even  try." 

"I  haven't,  honour  bright,"  Rose  replied. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Emily  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "He's 
such  a  sentimentalist!"  she  said.  "When  a 


142  SMITH 

man  is  feeling  so  awfully  sorry  for  you  and 
wants  you  to  get  married — "  she  stopped 
and  smiled. 

Rose  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 
"Upon  my  word,  you  are  clever!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Why  don't  you  beard  him  at  his 
work  in  the  dining-room  this  very  after- 
noon?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  it,"  said  Emily  calmly. 
"I  have  some  business  questions  that  I  want 
him  to  answer,  if  you  don't  mind?"  she 
added. 

"You  shan't  be  disturbed,"  said  Rose 
amiably.  She  got  up  from  her  chair  and 
smoothed  back  a  lock  of  hair. 

The  two  women  faced  one  another  for  a 
moment.  "Good  luck,"  said  Rose,  and 
Emily  went  out  into  the  passage  and  turned 
to  the  right  toward  the  dining-room. 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   TRAP    IS    SPRUNG 

EMILY  CHAPMAN  pushed  open  the  dining- 
room  door  noiselessly  and  looked  in.  Smith 
was  removing  the  cloth  and  Freeman,  with  a 
bundle  of  what  appeared  to  be  advertising 
pamphlets,  was  seating  himself  at  the  end 
of  the  table.  He  looked  up,  as  he  heard 
her,  and  smiled. 

"Good  gracious,  how  business-like  you 
look!"  she  exclaimed.  "I'll  fly!"  She 
made  the  pretence  of  retreating,  and  he  rose 
and  drew  up  a  chair  for  her. 

"Please  don't  go,"  he  said.  "They're 
only  catalogues  that  I've  got  to  look 
through.  I  wanted  a  place  to  spread  them 
out,  so  that  I  could  compare  things.  Thank 
you,  Smith,"  he  said.  "This  is  capital." 

"Do  you  wish  anything  more,  sir?"  asked 
Smith. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  answered,  and  Smith 
disappeared. 

145 


146  SMITH 

"What  are  these  things  about?"  asked 
Emily,  referring  to  the  catalogues.  "Agri- 
cultural implements?" 

Freeman's  eyes  had  followed  Smith  as 
she  went  out  through  the  pantry  door,  and 
she  was  still  in  his  mind.  "A  nice  girl, 
that,"  he  said  to  Emily.  "She's  been  talk- 
ing to  me." 

"Rather  forward,  I  should  say,"  observed 
Emily. 

"I  asked  her  to,"  he  answered.  "It  ap- 
pears she  wants  to  emigrate." 

"Really?"  said  Miss  Chapman. 

"And  very  wise,  too,"  observed  Freeman. 
"In  New  South  Wales  she  can  get  double 
the  wages  she  can  here,  and  she'll  marry  as 
soon  as  ever  she  wants  to." 

Emily's  interest  in  Smith  and  her  affairs 
seemed  to  increase.  "You  think  that's  the 
natural  course  for  women,  don't  you?"  she 
said  seriously. 

"I  think  they're  happier  when  they  carry 
out  the  purposes  of  nature,"  Freeman  an- 
swered. 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      147 

Emily  looked  away  and  began  turning 
over  the  pages  of  one  of  the  catalogues.  "I 
suppose  you  have  been  buying  all  sorts  of 
things,"  she  said  wearily. 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered.  "I  ought  to 
have  been  at  it  and  haven't.  Now  I  must 
hurry.  My  time  is  getting  short." 

"Why  are  you  going  so  soon?"  she  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  leave  the  farm  to 
its  own  devices  longer  than  I  can  help,"  he 
answered.  "Besides,  it's  my  life.  I  want 
to  get  back  to  it." 

"Are  you  happy  out  there?"  she  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  never  ask  myself,"  Freeman  replied. 
"I  dare  say,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "that 
is  happiness." 

Emily  dropped  into  the  chair  that  he  had 
brought  for  her  and  was  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  with  a  little  break  in  her  voice 
and  with  an  evident  effort,  she  spoke: 
"Lucky  man!"  she  said. 

Freeman  looked  at  her  pityingly  and  she 


148  SMITH 

dropped  her  eyes.  "You're  not  very  happy, 
I'm  afraid,"  he  ventured. 

She  threw  the  catalogue  that  she  was  hold- 
ing on  to  the  table  with  a  despairing  ges- 
ture. "Wretched!"  she  murmured. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Freeman  ten- 
derly. 

Emily  smiled  woefully.  "It's  very  nice 
of  you,"  she  said.  "But  don't  let's  talk 
about  it.  It  can  do  no  good  and  it  only 
makes  things  worse  to  talk  about  them." 

"Come,  now,"  said  Freeman  hopefully, 
"there  is  generally  a  way  out  of  every  dif- 
ficulty." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand,  placed  it 
lightly  on  his,  and  looked  up  gratefully 
at  him.  "I  know  you'd  do  all  you  could," 
she  said,  smiling  with  misty  eyes,  "but  there's 
nothing  you  can  do.  There's  nothing  any- 
one can  do." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  that  is 
troubling  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  my  dear  friend,"  Emily  replied,  "it's 
nothing  except  that  the  years  are  passing 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      149 

one  by  one  and  that  I'm  wasting  my  life. 
I'm  useless  in  the  world,  a  burden  to  myself 
and  to  everyone  connected  with  me." 

"Oh,  what  nonsense!"  he  exclaimed  im- 
patiently. 

"And  I  have  brought  it  all  on  myself," 
she  went  on,  "every  bit  of  it.  I  have  only 
myself  to  thank;  but  that  doesn't  make  it 
any  the  easier  to  bear,  does  it?" 

"Oh,  come,"  he  said,  and  smiled  encour- 
agingly. "There  will  be  a  way  out." 

She  shook  her  head,  rose,  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  to  and  fro  before  the  fire. 
"What  sort  of  an  opinion  of  myself  do  you 
think  I  can  have?"  she  began  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  was  willing  enough  to  marry  you  when 
you  had  money.  I  threw  you  over  when 
you  lost  it." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  that?"  he  asked  in 
some  surprise. 

She  nodded.  "Can  I  ever  forget  it?"  she 
said. 

"We  were  a  pair  of  young  fools  in  those 
days,"  he  said  reassuringly. 


150  SMITH 

"Still,  I  was  old  enough  to  know  what  I 
was  doing,"  she  replied.  "You  must  despise 
me  from  the  bottom  of  your  heart." 

"I  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  answered 
stoutly.  "Put  that  idea  out  of  your  head 
at  once." 

"You  are  very  good  and  generous,"  she 
said.  "Much  too  good." 

"Nonsense!"  he  muttered,  and  there  fol- 
lowed a  silence,  which  Emily  broke. 

"Were  you  very  much  in  love  with  me, 
then?"  she  asked. 

He  dropped  his  eyes.  "Yes,"  he  an- 
swered in  a  husky  voice. 

"How  cruel  and  heartless  I  was!"  she 
exclaimed  brokenly.  "But  how  I've  paid 
for  it !  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  unhappy 
I  am!"  She  turned  her  face  away  and  be- 
gan to  sob. 

Freeman  rose  and  stood  uncertainly.  He 
was  very  much  moved.  "Oh,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  "don't  cry!  I  can't  bear  it."  He 
went  to  her,  took  her  hand,  and  held  it,  while 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      151 

her  sobbing  increased.  "Please  don't,"  he 
said. 

She  drew  her  hand  away  and  endeavoured 
to  get  control  of  her  voice.  "Please  go 
away!"  she  begged.  "I'm  only  making  a 
fool  of  myself.  But,  oh,  I've  been  so  bit- 
terly punished!"  She  sank  into  the  arm- 
chair by  the  fire  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  began  sobbing  anew. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  cry!"  he  exclaimed. 
He  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  half  in  com- 
mand, half  imploring,  and  he  felt  her 
tremble  under  his  touch. 

Presently  she  raised  her  face  again  and 
began  in  a  choked,  uncertain  voice:  "It  was 
only  after  you  went  that—  '  she  hesitated, 
but  went  on,  "that  I  knew  how  much  I  loved 
you,  and  when  I  saw  you  again  the  other 
day — "  She  paused,  as  she  saw  Freeman 
wince.  "Yes,"  she  said  meekly,  "and  it  was 
nothing  to  you.  I  saw  that  you  thought 
me  old  and  plain  and  horrible.  But  you 
were  just  the  same,  and  it  all  came  back  to 


152  SMITH 

me.  If  you  wanted  revenge,  you've  got  it." 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed 
convulsively. 

"God  knows,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
hardly  audible,  "I  never  thought  of  any  of 
those  things.  I  was  sincerely  glad  to  see 
you,  as  I  believed  you  were  to  see  me,  as 
old  friends." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  she  said.  "Do  you 
mean  that  you  weren't  glad  that  I  had  lost 
my  looks,  that  things  had  gone  wrong  with 
me?" 

"But  what  do  you  think  me?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "A  monster?" 

"You  would  only  be  human,"  she  said,  "if 
you  enjoyed  it,  after  the  way  I  had  treated 
you.  But  if  you  only  knew  the  truth!"  she 
went  on.  "Even  at  the  time  it  brought  as 
much  suffering  for  me,  as  it  did  for  you, 
and  more;  for  I  was  in  the  wrong.  Oh,  if 
you  only  knew  the  misery  of  those  years! 
I  was  expecting  you  to  write.  Every  time 
the  postman  came,  my  heart  was  in  my 
throat.  I  thought  that  men  never  took 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      153 

women  at  their  word,  that  they  always  ex- 
pected them  to  reconsider.  I  thought  that 
you  would,  but  you  never  gave  me  another 
chance." 

Freeman,  who  had  been  listening  in 
pained  attention,  looked  into  the  fire.  "I 
thought  that  you  had  forgotten  all  about 
me,"  he  said  simply. 

"But  I  couldn't  write,"  she  said,  "after 
the  way  I  had  acted.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
wait.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  wait."  • 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed, 
"that  you've  cared  for  me  all  this  time?" 

She  looked  at  him  steadily.  "If  I  haven't 
married,  it's  on  your  account,  Tom,"  she 
answered  gravely.  "I  couldn't,  that's  all. 
I've  never  cared  for  anyone  but  you.  I 
never  shall." 

He  turned  away  to  the  window  and  gazed 
aimlessly  out  into  the  drizzle  that  was  fall- 
ing through  the  grey  air,  and  she  followed 
him  with  furtive,  anxious  eyes.  As  she  saw 
him  turn  towards  her  again,  she  bent  her 
head  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 


154  SMITH 

"Emily,"  he  demanded,  "do  you  still  care 
for  me?" 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  answered  brokenly. 
"How  can  you  humiliate  me?" 

"There  is  very  little  love  in  the  world," 
he  said  slowly.  "A  man  ought  to  be  very 
grateful,  if  a  woman  cares  for  him.  Per- 
haps fate  had  just  that  in  mind  when  it 
brought  me  back  to  England."  He  paused 
and  waited,  but  she  did  not  look  up.  "Do 
you  understand  what  you  are  bringing  on 
yourself?"  he  went  on.  "I'm  a  farmer  in  a 
new,  untamed,  unsettled  country,  and  my 
life  there  is  a  hard,  lonely  one,  and  must  be 
so  for  as  many  years  as  we  can  look  ahead. 
It  is  very  different  from  anything  that  you 
have  known." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
despairingly.  "If  you  knew  how  lonely  I 
am  here!"  she  said.  "There  is  not  a  soul  in 
the  world  that  cares  for  me!" 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  after  a  pause,  "I 
have  very  little  to  offer  you.  If  you  will 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      155 

marry  me,  I  will  try  to  make  you  a  good 
husband." 

She  said  nothing  for  a  time,  and  he  re- 
mained before  her,  gazing  down  at  her  face. 
Presently  she  murmured  his  name  in  a 
broken  voice  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him. 
He  was  lifting  her  gently  to  her  feet,  when 
she  heard  the  door  knob  rattle  and  drew 
away.  A  moment  later  Smith  entered  with 
a  visiting  card  on  a  salver. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  said 
to  Freeman. 

Freeman  looked  at  the  card.  "It's  the 
agent  for  one  of  these  firms  of  agricultural 
implements,"  he  said.  "Tell  him  I'll  see 
him  directly." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Smith,  and  went 
out. 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  when  they  were 
alone,  "let's  tell  Rose  and  have  a  celebra- 
tion." 

"Please  not  now,"  she  answered  plead- 
ingly- "Don't  think  it  odd  of  me,  but  I 


156  SMITH 

must  have  a  little  time.  Everything  is  so 
changed.  I'm  so  happy.  Perhaps  Rose 
wouldn't  altogether  sympathise  with  me,  you 
understand?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  he  said  gently.  "You'll 
tell  me  when?" 

"Let's  wait  a  week,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"I  must  be  going,  or  Rose  will  suspect  some- 
thing." She  turned  and  held  both  hands 
out  to  him.  "You  are  the  most  generous 
man  in  the  world,"  she  said  in  a  husky  voice. 

He  took  her  hands,  expecting  to  take  her 
in  his  arms,  but  something  changed  his  pur- 
pose— one  of  those  subtle,  inexplicable  cur- 
rents  of  feeling  that  rule  our  lives  at 
moments  of  crisis.  He  bent  low  and  raised 
her  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  then  released  her. 

She  seemed  not  to  resent  his  action,  and 
a  moment  later  was  gone. 

The  purpose  of  his  visit  was  accomplished. 
The  woman  that  he  had  once  wanted  above 
all  the  things  of  earth  was  his,  yet  a  curious 
sense  of  disappointment  weighed  on  him, 
"It  is  all  for  the  best,"  he  said  to  himself. 


THE  TRAP  IS  SPRUNG      157 

"It  must  be.  It  will  come  back  to  me.  At 
five  and  thirty,"  he  argued  with  himself,  "a 
man  doesn't  respond  to  sentiment  as  at  five 
and  twenty."  Anyway,  sentiment  was  not 
what  he  was  looking  for.  He  needed  a 
wife,  and  he  had  found  one.  He  ought  to 
be  a  very  happy  man. 

Smith  came  into  the  room  again,  usher- 
ing in  the  agricultural  implements  man  and 
passed  close  to  him,  as  she  crossed  the  room 
to  the  pantry  door.  And  as  she  passed, 
something  too  thin  and  ineffable  to  be  called 
a  fragrance  seemed  to  come  from  her  clean, 
transparent  skin,  or  from  her  mass  of  straw- 
coloured  hair,  or  from  some  inner  loveliness. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  sent  a  curious  thrill 
through  Freeman,  and  he  turned  to  his  busi- 
ness. 


HOW  A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE 
WAS  INTERRUPTED 


CHAPTER    X 

HOW  A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE  WAS  INTERRUPTED 

WHEN  Emily  left  the  dining-room,  she  had 
gone  softly  down  the  passage  and  had  let 
herself  out  without  speaking  to  Rose.  As 
a  not  unnatural  consequence,  Rose  con- 
cluded that  something  had  "happened,"  but 
exactly  what,  she  could  not  satisfactorily 
determine  from  Tom's  actions.  Rose  really 
cared  very  little  whether  Emily  married 
Tom  or  not.  She  had  been  honest  in  saying 
that  she  bore  Emily  no  resentment  and 
would  keep  her  hands  off,  but  she  had  a 
keen  human  curiosity  to  know  what  the  out- 
come of  the  attack  had  been.  For  three 
days  Emily  kept  away  from  Credinton 
Court.  On  the  fourth,  Rose  called  her  on 
the  telephone  and  insisted  that  she  come  to 
lunch  and  for  bridge  afterwards.  Rose 
knew  that  Tom  had  promised  to  come  in 
during  the  afternoon  and  she  suspected  that 
161 


162  SMITH 

her  best  chance  of  finding  out  what  appar- 
ently neither  he  nor  Emily  wished  to  talk 
about  lay  in  watching  them  when  they  were 
together.  Algy  and  Dallas-Baker  were 
both  in  for  lunch,  so  that  Rose  had  no 
chance  to  speak  to  Emily  alone.  After 
lunch,  they  fell  to  immediately  at  bridge. 

On  the  rubber  game  Emily  laid  down  her 
cards  when  the  hand  was  half  played  and 
showed  that  she  had  the  rest  of  the  tricks. 

"You  must  be  very  unlucky  in  love, 
Emily,"  observed  Rose  pointedly.  "I 
never  saw  anyone  hold  such  cards!" 

Emily  met  her  look  without  flinching. 
"You  ought  to  know,"  she  said  coolly. 

"Well,  luck  always  changes,"  Rose  an- 
swered, "no  matter  what  it  is." 

Mr.  Peppercorn,  who  had  been  adding  up 
the  score,  announced  that  the  rubber  was 
"thirty-five  bob." 

Dallas-Baker  looked  at  his  watch  and 
rose.  "I'm  afraid  that  I  must  be  going," 
he  said.  "Cynthia  will  be  here  directly  to 
take  my  place." 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      163 

"She  ought  to  be  here  now,"  said  Rose. 
Just  then  the  telephone  bell  sounded  shrilly 
in  the  passage  outside.  "Oh,  that  dreadful 
bell!"  she  exclaimed.  "Go  and  see  who  it 
is,  Herbert." 

"Very  well,"  said  Dallas-Baker,  and  he 
went  out. 

"I  hope  it's  not  Cynthia,"  said  Rose.  "If 
she  puts  us  off  at  this  hour,  I  shall  never 
forgive  her." 

Rose  not  only  chafed  at  the  idea  of  losing 
her  afternoon's  amusement,  but  she  counted 
on  Tom's  presence  during  the  card  playing 
as  a  basis  for  her  observations  and  inferences 
as  to  the  results  of  Emily's  campaign. 

"But  your  husband  would  stay,  if  we 
needed  him?"  suggested  Emily. 

"No,"  said  Rose,  "he's  got  to  go  out. 
He's  speaking  at  some  silly  political  meet- 
ing." 

"Then  it's  lucky  that  we  were  able  to  get 
hold  of  him  to  make  our  fourth  until  now," 
Emily  observed. 

"It  is,"  said  Rose.     "Still,  he  has  been 


164  SMITH 

coming  home  to  lunch  rather  often  of  late." 

"It  looks  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"as  if  work  was  devilish  slack  at  Lincoln's 
Inn.  We  shall  have  to  start  economising, 
Rose." 

"It's  dreadful,  isn't  it?"  said  Rose  lightly. 
"And  I  want  a  car  so  badly." 

"We  truly  ought  to  have  one,"  said  Algy. 
"I  have  heard  of  a  jolly  second-hand  one 
that  would  just  suit  us.  It's  only  been  used 
three  months." 

"How  much  do  they  want  for  it?"  Rose 
asked,  but  before  Mr.  Peppercorn  had  time 
to  answer,  Dallas-Baker  came  back.  She 
looked  up  at  her  husband  irritably.  "Who 
was  it?"  she  asked. 

"Otto  Rosenberg,"  he  answered. 

"How  tiresome!"  Rose  exclaimed.  "Isn't 
Cynthia  coming?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "Rosenberg 
wanted  to  know  if  Cynthia  was  here." 

"I  suppose,"  observed  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"that  she's  out  on  the  tiles  and  the  old  man 
is  getting  anxious." 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      165 

Emily  laughed.  "What  else  could  he 
expect  when  he  married  her?"  she  said. 

"He  is  getting  to  be  an  unendurable 
bore,"  said  Rose.  "He  rang  up  about  one 
o'clock  and  asked  if  she  was  lunching  here, 
and  I  told  him  no.  Then  he  had  the  im- 
pertinence to  ask  me  if  I  knew  where  she 
was  lunching.  It  so  happened  that  I  did, 
but  I  told  him  I  hadn't  the  least  idea." 

"You  shouldn't  have  said  that,  my  dear," 
said  Dallas-Baker. 

"And  why  not  ?"  Rose  retorted.  "Has  he 
any  business  trying  to  make  me  spy  on  his 
wife?" 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  is  fussing 
about  now?"  Emily  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"Oh,  it's  only  that  blessed  baby,"  Rose 
answered.  "It's  always  ill." 

"Well,"  said  Dallas-Baker,  "have  your 
own  way,  but  I  promised  Rosenberg  that 
we'd  tell  Cynthia  the  moment  she  came." 

"That  was  rather  silly,"  said  Rose.  "She 
can't  do  any  good  by  going  home,  and  a 
message  like  that  will  only  worry  her. 


166  SMITH 

Otto's  an  old  woman  and  he  flies  back  from 
the  city  every  time  the  child  starts  squall- 
ing." 

"Still  I  think  we  ought  to  tell  her,  Rose," 
insisted  Dallas-Baker.  "Otto's  very  anx- 
ious that  she  should  go  home  at  once." 

"We'll  tell  her  after  we've  had  a  rubber," 
said  Rose  decidedly.  "I  don't  see  why  our 
afternoon  should  be  wasted  because  a  pecul- 
iarly uninteresting  baby  isn't  quite  well." 

"Hear!  hear!"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"Well,"  said  Dallas-Baker  doubtfully,  "I 
dare  say  that  will  do.  It  can't  make  much 
difference  if  she  gets  back  an  hour  sooner  or 
later.  But  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  deceiv- 
ing him."  He  turned  to  go,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Freeman  came  in,  and  Rose  at 
once  fixed  her  eyes  on  Emily  Chapman. 

"Hello,  everybody,"  he  called  jovially. 
"At  it  again."  He  crossed  the  room  to  the 
card  table  and  shook  hands  with  Miss  Chap- 
man. 

"Not  at  the  moment,"  Emily  answered 
lightly.  "We're  waiting  for  Cynthia  Rosen- 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      167 

berg."  Her  manner  was  natural  and  with- 
out restraint  or  embarrassment.  Rose  could 
make  nothing  of  it. 

"You  see,"  said  Dallas-Baker,  by  way  of 
explanation,  "I've  got  to  go  before  we  could 
finish  another  rubber." 

"His  country  calls,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn, "and  he  is  going  to  tell  the  British 
elector  how  to  do  his  duty.  Don't  look  at 
me,"  he  added,  "as  if  you  had  never  laid  eyes 
on  me  before.  It's  rude." 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  Freeman,  "if  I 
had  seen  you  before  to-day.  Did  you  have 
breakfast  here,  to-day?  I  forget." 

"No,"  drawled  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "I 
always  breakfast  in  bed.  Mother  thinks  it's 
so  much  better  for  me.  I  came  to  luncheon." 

"Then  I've  not  seen  you,"  said  Freeman. 
"In  that  case,  I  wish  you  good  morning." 

"It's  too  kind  of  you,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn. 

"And  may  I  express  the  hope,"  continued 
Freeman,  "that  you  passed  a  good  night?" 

"I  thank  you  again,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 


168  SMITH 

corn;  "I  slept  the  sleep  of  the  pure  at  heart." 

"The  news,"  said  Freeman  with  mock 
gravity,  "fills  me  with  satisfaction." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  rose  and  bowed  with  cere- 
mony. "If  it  were  possible,"  he  said,  "to 
embarrass  me,  your  politeness  would  cover 
me  with  confusion." 

At  this  point  the  door  opened  and  Smith 
announced  Mrs.  Rosenberg. 

Exclamations  of  joy  received  her  and  she 
burst  into  the  room  and  began  to  shake 
hands.  "I'm  fearfully  sorry  to  be  so  late," 
she  explained,  "but  I've  had  all  sorts  of 
things  to  do,  and  I  thought  I  should  never 
get  away  from  lunch." 

"We  were  beginning  to  be  very  cross 
with  you,"  said  Rose. 

"You'll  forgive  me,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg, 
"when  you  know  what  I've  been  through." 

"Tell  us  your  woes!"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn sympathetically. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "I  spent 
the  entire  morning  at  the  dressmakers.  Lit- 
erally, I  never  got  away  until  half -past  one 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      169 

o'clock,  and  then  I  had  to  rush  to  the  Ritz 
and  lunch  with  Montie  Kenyon.  He,  poor 
dear,  is  very  much  exercised  over  his  last 
love  affair  and  I  had  to  listen  to  that  until 
I  thought  I  should  die ;  then  I  made  him  go 
along  to  look  at  a  private  view  with  me  which 
I  had  promised  to  turn  up  at,  and  then  I  had 
to  make  half  a  dozen  calls,  and  here  I  am. 
I've  never  had  such  a  rush  in  my  life!" 

"Rather  an  arduous  day,"  observed  Mr. 
Peppercorn,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"Do  you  think  a  rubber  will  rest  you?" 
asked  Dallas-Baker  uneasily. 

"I  know  it  will,"  Mrs.  Rosenberg  an- 
swered quickly.  "The  only  thing  that  kept 
me  going  all  day  was  the  thought  of  a  quiet 
rubber  or  two  here  before  dinner." 

"Parliament  should  take  it  up,"  said  Free- 
man, who  had  been  standing  in  the  back- 
ground. "There  should  really  be  an  eight 
hour  day  for  the  idle  rich." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  turned  and  smiled  at  him. 
"I  didn't  see  you  when  I  came  in,"  she  said. 
"Do  tell  me  how  you  are  getting  on." 


170  SMITH 

"Getting  on?     I?"  he  said  perplexedly. 

She  smiled  at  him  and  began  taking 
off  her  gloves.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "Rose 
told  me  you'd  come  to  England  to  look  for 
a  wife.  I  was  thinking  it  would  be  such  a 
chance  for  me  to  get  rid  of  some  of  my  sis- 
ters-in-law." 

Rose  shot  a  searching  look  at  her  brother 
and  then  at  Emily,  but  neither  of  their  faces 
gave  her  the  information  for  which  she  was 
seeking. 

Freeman  smiled  back  at  Mrs.  Rosenberg. 
"Are  they  very  attractive?"  he  asked. 

"Very,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "and  there 
are  three  of  them.  As  long  as  you  are  going 
to  South  Africa  or  some  such  outlandish 
place,  it  occurred  to  me  that  you  might 
marry  them  all." 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  little  late  for  such  lib- 
erty of  conscience  as  that,"  he  answered. 
"Africa  is  no  longer  as  liberal  as  it  used 
to  be.  But,  tell  me  more  about  these 
ladies." 

"One,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "is  called 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      171 

Rachel,  another  Lydia,  and  the  third  Pom- 
Pom." 

"I  think  I  should  like  Pom-Pom,"  said 
Freeman.  "Pom-Pom  Freeman  sounds 
very  well,  don't  you  think  so?  Go  on  about 
them,"  he  added.  "What  do  they  do?" 

"Well,  principally,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg, 
"they  spend  their  time  in  picking  holes  in 
me  and  pointing  them  out  to  Otto.  They've 
got  the  strongest  sense  of  other  people's 
duty  that  I  have  ever  come  across." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  smiled  approvingly,  but 
said  nothing. 

"That  sounds  rather  like  a  warning,"  said 
Freeman.  "A  sense  of  duty,  like  charity, 
should  begin  at  home." 

"What  have  they  been  doing  now?"  Emily 
asked. 

"Nothing  new,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg. 
"The  same  old  nag,  nag.  Their  idea  of  a 
jolly  life  is  that  I  should  spend  the  whole 
day  by  baby's  cradle,  except  for  an  hour  in 
the  morning,  when  I  must  run  out  and  do 
the  housekeeping.  But,"  she  went  on,  "I 


172  SMITH 

tell  Otto,  what  on  earth  have  we  got  seven 
servants  for."  She  broke  off  suddenly  and, 
turning  to  Rose,  added,  "You  should  see  our 
new  second  footman,  Rose,  dear.  He's  six 
foot  four.  I'm  so  proud  of  him!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Rose  shortly,  "I  wish  you 
would  realise  that  one  doesn't  talk  of  one's 
second  footman  unless  one  is  in  love  with 
him." 

"Even  then  it  is  slightly  indiscreet,"  sug- 
gested Dallas-Baker,  with  an  elephantine 
effect  at  lightness. 

"I'm  not  interested  in  the  giant  footman," 
said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "but  I  wish  that  you 
would  tell  me  more  about  your  sisters-in- 
law." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "of  course, 
they're  Jewesses,  but  they  aren't  so  bad, 
really,  when  you  get  to  know-  them,  and 
they've  got  thirty  thousand  pounds  apiece." 

Mr.  Peppercorn's  face  lighted  up. 

Emily  smiled  and  looked  at  Freeman. 
"That  sounds  rather  a  chance,  Tom!"  she 
said. 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      173 

"Doesn't  it?"  he  replied,  and  again  Rose 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  them  and 
again  she  was  unable  to  satisfy  herself  as  to 
what  had  passed  between  them. 

"I  know  that  I  shouldn't  care  for  Pom- 
Pom,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "It  sounds 
rather  affected.  Did  you  say  that  they  all 
had  thirty  thousand?" 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  nodded. 

"Then,"  continued  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "if 
you  will  not  think  me  bold,  I  shall  put 
Lydia's  name  upon  my  cuff,  so  that  I  may 
memorise  it  at  my  leisure.  I  think  it  well 
to  file  Lydia  for  reference.  Who  can  tell?" 
He  produced  a  gold  pencil  and  pretended 
to  make  the  memorandum  on  his  wrist- 
band. 

Rose  ran  her  hand  over  one  of  the  packs 
of  cards  that  lay  on  the  table.  "Cut  for 
partners,"  she  said.  "If  we  want  to  play 
bridge,  we  really  ought  not  to  waste  any 
more  time." 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  drew  a  card  and  then, 
glancing  about,  saw  that  there  were  five  pos- 


174  SMITH 

sible  players.  "But  aren't  you  going  to 
play?"  she  asked  of  Dallas-Baker. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "I  have  to  go."  He 
took  out  his  watch.  "I  must  be  off  in  ten 
minutes.  That's  why  they  were  waiting  for 
you.  I  shall  just  stop  on  to  see  you  get 
started." 

"I,  for  one,  Herbert,"  said  Rose  petu- 
lantly, "shall  be  thankful  when  you  go.  It 
does  bore  me  to  see  you  take  your  watch  out 
every  other  minute." 

"It's  quite  true,  Herbert,"  said  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn amiably.  "You've  become  distress- 
ingly restless  of  late,  and  we  only  married 
you  because  we  liked  your  stolidity.  Do 
look  up  the  law  and  see  if  one  can  have  a 
marriage  annulled  on  the  ground  of  false 
pretences." 

Dallas-Baker  laughed  heartily.  "Upon 
my  soul!"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  what  things 
are  coming  to."  He  glanced  at  Freeman, 
but  Tom  had  gone  to  the  writing  table  and 
was  seating  himself  to  write  a  note. 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      175 

Mr.  Peppercorn  drew  his  card  and  dis- 
played it. 

"You  and  I,  Algy,"  said  Emily,  "and  we 
have  the  choice  of  seats." 

"Take  the  ones  with  the  armchairs,"  he 
replied  unblushingly,  "and  let's  have  the  red 
cards." 

He  had  hardly  begun  to  deal  before  the 
telephone  began  to  ring  again  in  the  hall- 
way and  Rose  sat  up  angrily,  as  if  its 
ringing  were  a  personal  affront.  "It's  too 
exasperating!"  she  exclaimed.  "There's 
that  wretched  telephone  again!" 

"Shan't  I  go?"  asked  her  husband. 

"Yes,  do,"  she  answered,  "and  afterwards 
you  might  take  the  receiver  off.  I  don't 
want  to  be  interrupted  again." 

"All  right,"  he  said  and  started  for  the 
door,  when  it  opened  and  Smith  entered. 

She  crossed  the  room  noiselessly  to  Mrs. 
Rosenberg,  and  in  her  low,  pleasant  voice 
said:  "You're  wanted  on  the  telephone, 


ma'am." 


176  SMITH 

"Oh,  how  tiresome!"  Mrs.  Rosenberg  ex- 
claimed. "Have  you  said  I'm  here?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Smith. 

"That's  too  stupid  of  you,  Smith,"  cried 
Rose.  "You  should  always  say  you'll  in- 
quire. I  thought  I  had  impressed  that  upon 
you  before." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Smith  meekly. 

"Well,  say  I'm  in  the  middle  of  a  hand 
at  bridge,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  "and  that 
I  can't  possibly  come.  Ask  them  to  give 
you  the  message." 

"Very  good,  ma'am,"  Smith  answered, 
and  went  back  to  the  telephone. 

Dallas-Baker  looked  nervously  at  his  wife 
and  caught  her  eye. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  great  demand, 
Cynthia,"  Rose  said  chaffingly.  "This  is 
the  third  time  that  you've  been  rung  up 
here." 

"I  suppose  Otto  has  got  some  foolish  idea 
in  his  head,"  Mrs.  Rosenberg  replied  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "I  oughtn't  to  have 
told  him  that  I  was  coming." 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      177 

"If  one  wants  to  play  cards  in  peace  and 
quiet,"  said  Emily,  "it's  fatal  to  let  anyone 
know  one's  whereabouts.  They  invariably 
ring  you  up  when  you  are  playing  a  very 
light  no  trumper  and  need  all  your  wits 
about  you." 

Dallas-Baker,  who  had  been  standing  by 
with  a  look  of  anxiety  in  his  face,  dropped 
into  the  chair  next  Mrs.  Rosenberg  and 
glanced  over  her  hand.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Cynthia,"  he  began,  then  he  hesitated, 
as  he  felt  Rose's  look  fixed  upon  him. 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg,  arranging 
her  cards. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  began—  Then  he 
broke  off,  for  Smith  entered  the  room  again. 

Freeman  had  swung  around  from  his  seat 
at  the  writing  table  and  watched  her  as  she 
came  in.  He  noticed  that  the  colour  had 
left  her  face  and  he  ascribed  it  to  the  sharp 
rebuke  that  his  sister  had  given  her.  "It's 
an  outrage,"  he  said  to  himself,  "for  one 
grown  woman  to  speak  to  another  in  that 
way  before  people." 


178  SMITH 

And  for  the  moment  a  passion  of  resent- 
ment against  Rose  swept  over  him.  But 
there  was  nothing  that  he  could  do,  so  he 
kept  silent. 

Smith  came  to  Mrs.  Rosenberg  again. 
"If  you  please,  ma'am,"  she  began,  and  then 
stopped. 

The  four  at  the  card  table  looked  up  in 
amazement.  "What  on  earth  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Smith?"  said  Rose,  for  Smith  had 
stopped  because  she  was  unable  to  control 
her  voice. 

"I'll  bet  a  fiver,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"that  Otto  has  eloped  with  the  cook.  The 
kitchen  maid  is  giving  notice." 

"It's  Mr.  Rosenberg,  ma'am,"  said  Smith 
with  an  effort. 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg  impatiently. 

"Oh,  ma'am,"  cried  Smith  brokenly,  "I 
can't  tell  you!" 

"Smith,"  exclaimed  Rose  sharply,  "you 
forget  yourself!" 

"You  must  go  at  once,  ma'am,"  Smith 
went  on.  "It's— it's  the  baby." 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      179 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  looked  uncertainly  at 
Rose.  "I  suppose  Otto  is  in  one  of  his  states 
of  mind  again,"  she  said.  "I'll  have  to  go. 
Tell  Mr.  Rosenberg,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Smith,  "that  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  have 
finished  my  hand." 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am!"  said  Smith  in  a  low, 
earnest  voice  that  had  a  haunting,  resonant 
tenderness,  "please  go  at  once.  You 
mustn't  go  on;  you  really  mustn't!" 

Rose  pushed  her  chair  back  indignantly 
and  looked  at  her  parlour  maid,  blazing  with 
anger.  "What  on  earth  are  you  talking 
about?"  she  exclaimed. 

Freeman  had  left  the  writing  desk  and 
joined  the  party  at  the  card  table.  "Smith," 
he  asked  quietly,  "what  is  it?" 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  answered,  "they  said  I  was 
to  break  it  to  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Freeman  gently,  "I  dare  say 
that  they  thought  it  was  my  sister  speaking. 
What  is  it?" 

Her  voice  dropped  almost  to  a  whisper 
and  the  tears  gathered  in  the  corners  of  her 


180  SMITH 

violet  eyes.     "It's  dead,  sir,"  she  answered. 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  gave  a  curious  little  cry 
and  the  hand  that  held  her  cards  dropped 
to  the  table.  Then,  without  speaking,  she 
rose  and  began  mechanically  searching  for 
something.  Peppercorn,  divining  that  it 
was  her  gloves  she  wanted,  found  them  for 
her  under  the  table.  As  she  passed  Free- 
man on  her  way  to  the  door,  he  made  a  mo- 
tion as  if  to  accompany  her,  but  she  waved 
him  back  with  a  nervous,  frightened  gesture, 
and  went  out. 

Dallas-Baker  broke  the  silence.  "Oughtn't 
I  to  go  with  her?"  he  asked  huskily  of  his 
wife. 

Rose  shook  her  head.  She  was  white  with 
fear.  "No,"  she  said,  breathing  hard.  "Let 
Algy  go." 

Algy  nodded.  "I  don't  mind,"  he  said, 
and  followed  Mrs.  Rosenberg  out. 

Smith  had  remained  speechless,  with  the 
tears  brimming  in  her  eyes.  After  Pepper- 
corn had  disappeared,  Rose  turned  on 
her. 


A  RUBBER  AT  BRIDGE      181 

"What  are  you  waiting  for,  Smith?"  she 
asked  sharply. 

"Oh,  ma'am,"  Smith  answered  brokenly, 
"isn't  it  dreadful!" 

"For goodness'  sake,  go  away!"  cried  Rose 
violently. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  the  par- 
lour maid,  and  crossed  noiselessly  and  erect 
to  the  door,  which  she  shut  behind  her. 

Freeman  had  an  impulse  to  follow  her, 
but  he  checked  himself.  He  saw  Emily  still 
sitting,  dumb  and  expressionless,  at  the  card 
table,  with  her  cards  clutched  tightly  in  her 
hand. 


EMILY  SHOWS  HERSELF  IN  A 
NEW  LIGHT 


CHAPTER   XI 

EMILY  SHOWS  HERSELF  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT 

AFTER  a  few  moments  Rose  dropped  into 
her  chair  again,  Dallas-Baker  turned  his 
back  to  the  fire,  and  Emily  laid  her  cards 
face  downward  on  the  table. 

Freeman  went  back  to  his  seat  at  the  writ- 
ing desk,  took  up  his  pen  and  sat  with  it  idle 
between  his  fingers. 

"I  like  Smith's  idea  of  trying  to  break  it 
gently,"  said  Rose,  trying  to  recover  her 
usual  voice  and  manner. 

"She  seemed  quite  upset,"  said  Emily. 

Dallas-Baker  began  nervously  pacing  the 
room.  "I  hope  it  won't  lead  to  any  unpleas- 
antness," he  said  apprehensively. 

Rose  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
impatience.  "Oughtn't  you  to  be  going  to 
your  meeting?"  she  said. 

He  started  and  looked  at  his  watch  again. 
"I  suppose  I  ought,"  he  said  apologetically. 
185 


186  SMITH 

"I  had  quite  forgotten  it  for  the  moment." 
He  looked  about  him  uncertainly  and  then 
went  out  without  speaking. 

Freeman  followed  him  with  a  perplexed 
look.  When  he  had  gone,  he  rose  and  came 
towards  the  two  women,  who  were  at  the 
card  table.  "Rose,"  he  said,  "did  you  know 
the  child  was  ill?" 

Rose  started.  "They  rang  up  just  before 
lunch,"  she  answered  evasively,  "to  ask  if  I 
knew  where  Cynthia  was." 

"But  you  did,"  said  Freeman.  "I  heard 
you  say  at  breakfast  that  she  was  lunching 
at  the  Ritz." 

"It's  not  my  business  to  tell  Otto  where 
his  wife  is  lunching,"  she  replied  sullenly. 

"Still,"  said  Freeman,  "if  you  had,  she 
might  have  been  home  three  hours  ago." 

"But  how  could  I,"  she  answered,  "when 
she  had  told  me  in  confidence?" 

"Was  she  lunching  with  anyone  she 
shouldn't  have  been  with?"  asked  Freeman. 

"No,"  said  Rose.  "Otto  doesn't  like 
Montie  Kenyon,  but  there's  no  reason  why 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     187 

she  shouldn't  lunch  with  him,  if  she  wants 
to/' 

"Then  you  ought  to  have  told  Rosenberg 
where  she  was,"  Freeman  said  slowly  and 
authoritatively. 

Rose  sprang  to  her  feet.  "For  goodness' 
sake,  don't  lecture  me!"  she  exclaimed  ex- 
citably. "I'm  not  in  the  mood  to  stand 
it." 

Her  brother  looked  at  her  thoughtfully 
for  a  moment,  then  an  unpleasant  possibility 
flashed  upon  him  and  a  shadow  crossed  his 
face.  "Rose,"  he  said  sternly,  "you  didn't 
refuse  to  tell  Rosenberg  where  his  wife  was 
so  that  your  bridge  party  shouldn't  be 
broken  up?" 

"Good  heavens!"  answered  Rose.  "You 
don't  suppose  that  I  knew  the  child  was 
dying,  do  you?  Otto  was  always  getting 
into  a  state  of  mind  about  its  health.  I 
hadn't  any  idea  that  it  was  really  sick.  The 
whole  thing's  a  beastly  nuisance." 

Freeman  gazed  at  his  sister  with  some- 
thing like  horror  as  well  as  indignation  in 


188  SMITH 

his  eyes.  "Why,  Rose!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  don't  mean—" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  alone!"  she 
cried  explosively.  "You've  done  nothing  but 
blame  me  for  one  thing  or  another  ever  since 
you  came.  I'm  sick  of  it.  If  you're  not 
satisfied  with  me,  you  can  go!" 

"Yes,"  said  Freeman  sadly,  "that  is  the 
best  thing  I  can  do.  I'm  only  a  stranger 
to  you.  We  speak  a  different  language, 
you  and  I." 

"And  I  can  only  hope,"  Rose  answered, 
her  anger  rising  hysterically,  "that  I  don't 
speak  such  drivelling  nonsense  in  mine  as 
you  do  in  yours.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how 
I  loathed  you,"  she  went  on.  "How  thank- 
ful I  shall  be  when  you  go  and  how  I  hope 
I  shall  never,  never  see  you  again!"  Her 
voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream  and  as  she 
finished  she  started  for  the  door. 

"You  can  easily  be  spared  that!"  he  re- 
joined. "Of  course,  I'll  go."  He  watched 
her  as  she  flung  herself  out  of  the  room  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  her.  "Well,"  he 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     189 

said  grimly  to  Emily,  "you  have  witnessed  a 
very  pretty  domestic  quarrel." 

"When  a  single  woman  has  reached  my 
age,"  Emily  answered,  "she's  seen  her  fair 
share  of  them." 

"Rose  is  the  only  relation  I've  got,"  Free- 
man went  on  after  a  pause,  "and  I  came  back 
fonder  of  her  than  I'd  ever  been  before.  I 
clothed  her  with  all  the  qualities  I  want  in 


a  woman." 


Emily  smiled  faintly.  "Poor  Rose,"  she 
said.  "She  was  always  a  little  overdressed 
before." 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered.  "It  was  nothing 
very  much  that  I  expected.  I  asked  only 
that  she  should  be  honest  and  truthful  and 
a  faithful  wife  and  a  good  mother." 

Emily  watched  him  thoughtfully  with  a 
curious  smile  on  her  lips  as  he  went  on  set- 
ting forth  the  essentials  that  he  demanded  of 
Rose.  "I  don't  suppose  that  it  is  very  much 
to  ask,"  she  observed,  "and  yet—  "  she  hesi- 
tated and  stopped,  and  looked  at  Freeman. 

"But  how  could  she  be  so  wantonly  cruel 


190  SMITH 

and  selfish?"  he  went  on,  disregarding  the 
defence  implied  in  Emily's  hesitation.  "The 
only  person  who  seemed  to  care  a  damn  was 
Smith." 

"Persons  of  that  class  are  very  easily 
moved,"  Emily  replied. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  be  unmoved,  if  you 
have  no  heart,"  he  said  fiercely. 

Emily  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "Let's 
be  honest  with  ourselves,"  she  said  after  a 
pause,  "not  sentimental.  Do  you  really  care 
twopence  whether  the  child  is  alive  or  dead?" 

He  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
indignation.  "Would  it  seem  odd  to  you 
if  I  did?"  he  answered. 

"After  all,"  said  Emily,  "it's  nothing  to 
you.  You  have  never  even  seen  it." 

"But  the  world  is  such  a  jolly  place!"  he 
exclaimed.  "And  life  is  so  full  and  splen- 
did! Think  how  hard  it  is  that  any  child 
should  be  snatched  away  before  he's  enjoyed 
anything." 

Emily  began  mechanically  gathering  the 
cards  that  lay  spread  upon  the  table.  "Do 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     191 

you  really  think  the  world  is  a  jolly  place 
and  that  life  is  splendid?"  she  asked  with  a 
trace  of  irony  in  her  tone. 

"Don't  you?"  he  answered. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  began  to  make 
the  gathered  cards  into  a  pack.  "It  had 
been  weakly  from  its  birth,"  she  said,  evad- 
ing his  question. 

"Even  then,"  he  answered  promptly,  "it  is 
the  saddest  thing  in  the  world  that  a  child 
should  die." 

"One  often  hears  elderly  spinsters  say  that 
sort  of  thing,"  Emily  replied,  "but  it  sounds 
odd  in  your  mouth." 

"I  am  afraid  you  think  me  very  ridicu- 
lous," he  suggested. 

"Not  exactly  ridiculous,"  she  answered. 
"I  think  you  a  little  unusual." 

"I've  had  a  very  rough  time,"  he  said, 
"and  the  world  has  knocked  me  about  a  bit. 
I  think  that  it  has  knocked  the  nonsense  out 
of  me.  I  only  want  very  simple  things 


now." 


:Like  simple  clothes,"  Emily  added  with 


192  SMITH 

a  smile,  "I'm  afraid  they  cost  a  great  deal 
of  money." 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said,  "I 
want  no  more  than  a  roof  over  my  head  and 
decent  food  to  eat  and  a  wife  and  children. 
That  oughtn't  to  be  very  hard  to  get,  if  you 
are  willing  to  work  for  it.  And  one  thing 
more — I'd  like  my  own  people  to  be  fond 
of  me." 

Emily  had  dropped  her  eyes  and  was 
nervously  shuffling  the  pack  of  cards. 

"And  for  that,"  he  went  on,  "I  don't  mind 
putting  up  with  rotten  weather  and  bad 
times  and  sickness  and  separation  and  death 
and  still  call  it  good." 

Emily  laid  the  cards  before  her  on  the 
table  and  looked  up  at  him.  "You  have 
asked  me  to  marry  you,  Tom,"  she  said. 

He  uttered  a  dry  laugh.  "Good  heavens, 
I  haven't  forgotten  it,"  he  said. 

"Did  you  ask  me  because  you  thought 
that  I  would  be  honest  and  truthful,  a  faith- 
ful wife  and  a  good  mother?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     193 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  her 
face  and  her  breathing  began  to  come  short 
and  quick.  "I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  began 
with  difficulty,  "that  since  you  went  away 
I've  been  engaged  twice." 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise,  but 
without  grasping  the  significance  which  the 
confession  had  for  her.  "Have  you?"  he 
said. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  wretchedly.  "It 
wasn't  true  when  I  said  that  I  had  waited 
for  you.  It  wasn't  true  when  I  said  that  I 
had  loved  you  all  the  time." 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  this  now?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Because  I  can't  go  on  with  it,"  she  said 
desperately. 

"On  with  what?"  he  asked.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  fire  and,  standing 
with  her  back  to  it,  faced  him.  She  had  re- 
covered her  self-possession  and  spoke  in  her 
usual  calm,  rather  cold  voice.  "I  mean 
this,"  she  said.  "I  set  about  to  entrap  you; 


194  SMITH 

that's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it.  I  set  a 
mean  little  trap  for  you  and  you  fell  into 
it,  just  as  I  knew  you  would  fall  into  it. 
And  now  I  can't  go  on  with  it.  I  haven't 
sunk  that  far  yet."  She  stopped,  ap- 
parently waiting  for  him  to  speak,  but  he 
said  nothing.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of 
me,"  she  went  on,  "and  bless  your  stars  that 
you're  out  of  it." 

He  went  to  her  and  put  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders.  "You  poor  girl,"  he  said  gently. 
"You  know  I  believe  awfully  in  the  life  that 
I'm  going  to  take  you  to,  even  for  a  woman 
brought  up  as  you  have  been.  It's  a  hard 
life,  rather,  but  it  has  its  points,  and  I  think 
that  after  living  it  a  little  while  the  sordid- 
ness  and  the  meanness  fall  away  from  one." 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  in  amazement. 
"You're  not  willing  to  marry  me  still!"  she 
exclaimed. 

He  smiled.  "What  do  you  take  me  for?" 
he  answered. 

"But  why?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     195 

"Because,"  he  said,  "I  think  we  shall  be 
very  happy." 

Emily  shook  her  head  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  "I  never  expect  to  be  happy," 
she  answered.  "You  don't  know  me,  Tom. 
I'm  too  old  to  change  now." 

"I've  learned  to  ask  awfully  little  of  peo- 
ple," he  said  encouragingly. 

Emily  dried  her  eyes  with  her  handker- 
chief, straightened  up  and  in  her  usual  self- 
contained  manner  began  to  speak.  "Do  you 
know  why  I  was  so  desperately  anxious  to 
marry  you?"  she  asked.  He  made  no  reply. 
"Well,  I've  got  three  hundred  pounds  of 
debts,"  she  went  on,  answering  her  own 
question,  "and  writs  are  out  against  me  and 
I  haven't  a  farthing.  The  mere  announce- 
ment of  my  engagement  is  enough  to  set  me 
free  for  the  moment.  My  dressmaker,"  she 
added  bitterly,  "is  willing  to  lend  me  the 
money  until  I'm  married." 

"Well,"  said  Freeman,  "she  won't  have  to, 
now.  I  can  manage  that  on  my  head." 


196  SMITH 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
found  him  something  impossible  to  compre- 
hend. "But  have  you  no  reproaches  for 
me?"  she  asked. 

Freeman  laughed.  "I'm  rather  glad 
youVe  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,"  he  said. 
"Now  we  can  start  fresh  and  we  won't  talk 
of  it  again." 

Emily  shook  her  head.  "Do  you  suppose 
that  I  would  have  humiliated  myself  like 
this,"  she  said  bitterly,  "if  I  hadn't  made  up 
my  mind?  What  would  I  do  on  a  Rhode- 
sian  farm?  The  only  talent  I  have  is  for 
playing  bridge." 

"You'll  be  able  to  beat  me  at  double 
dummy  in  the  evenings,"  he  answered. 

"But  you  don't  understand  what  I  am," 
she  went  on.  "When  I  grew  desperate  and 
thought  it  would  be  easy  to  catch  you,  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  after  we  were  mar- 
ried, I  should  get  you  back  to  England  as 
soon  as  I  could,  and  once  there,  I  thought 
it  would  be  easy  to  invent  excuses  to  prevent 
our  going  out  again.  You  see,  I've  been 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     197 

nothing  but  heartless  and  selfish  through  it 
all." 

"At  the  same  time,"  he  said  gently,  "you 
might  grow  to  care  for  me  and  then  you 
wouldn't  mind  staying  where  I  was." 

"I?"  said  Emily.  "I  care?"  She  shook 
her  head.  "There's  no  possibility  of  love 
for  me  any  more.  All  the  love  I'm  capable 
of  was  wasted  years  ago." 

"Let  us  risk  it  at  all  events,"  he  said.  He 
came  towards  her  and  held  out  his  hands, 
but  she  backed  away. 

"No,  Tom,"  she  cried  desperately,  "I 
can't!  I  can't!  I  can't!" 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

"There  is  something  in  me  that  I  didn't 
know,"  she  answered;  "something  I  don't 
understand.  Perhaps  I  am  a  better  woman 
than  I  thought.  I  wanted  it  so  much,  but 
now  I  haven't  a  spark  of  love  in  my  heart 
for  you,  and  I  can't  do  it.  It  mightn't  be 
so  difficult,"  she  went  on,  "if  you  loved  me, 
but  you  don't,  do  you?  Be  honest!  Real 
love,  I  mean." 


198  SMITH 

"It  may  come,"  he  said. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "It  wouldn't.  This 
is  a  moment  when  I  am  better  than  I  am 
and  I  know  it.  I  know  what  I  really  am, 
and  what  I  should  be  if  you  married  me. 
You  haven't  deserved  that  I  should  make 
you  unhappy.  I  can't  treat  you  like  that. 
You've  been  a  perfect  brick  to  me,  and  I 
won't  be  such  a  cad." 

"You  know  you  are  talking  rather  rot," 
he  answered,  "aren't  you?" 

"No,"  she  said  firmly.  "I'm  talking 
sense.  I  can't  marry  you,  not  only  for  your 
sake,  but  mine.  It  would  be  indecent." 
She  turned  to  the  chair  over  the  arm  of  which 
her  long  gloves  were  lying,  picked  them  up 
and  began  to  move  toward  the  door.  Half- 
way she  stopped  and  turned  around. 
"Come,"  she  said,  "we've  been  ranting  hor- 
ribly, you  and  I.  I'm  sure  that  we've  been 
making  ourselves  perfectly  ridiculous." 

He  stood  by  the  fireplace,  watching  her 
with  a  curious  smile  on  his  lips.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "it  begins  to  look  as  if  I  shall  have  to 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     199 

go  back  to  Africa  without  a  wife  after  all." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Emily.  There 
was  a  note  of  tenderness  in  her  voice  that 
had  not  been  there  before.  "I  hope  you'll 
get  a  nice,  helpful  woman  to  go  back  with 
you.  And  I  should  like  her  to  be  very 
simple  and  unspoiled." 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Freeman,  "where  the 
dickens  am  I  to  find  such  a  paragon?" 

Emily  laughed.  "I  haven't  an  idea,"  she 
said.  "Only  I  hope  you  do.  You  deserve 
it." 

There  was  a  pause  and  then  Freeman 
started  up,  as  if  an  idea  had  just  come  to 
him.  "I  have  half  a  mind  to  marry  Smith," 
he  said. 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  answered  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"But  I  believe  we'd  suit  one  another  un- 
commonly well,"  said  Freeman. 

"But  you  couldn't  marry  a  servant,"  said 
Emily. 

"That's  all  rot,"  said  Freeman.  "When 
you  are  thirty  miles  from  anywhere  people 


200  SMITH 

aren't  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but  men  and 
women.  And  sometimes  beasts." 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  she  answered 
slowly. 

"It  is  undeniably  so,"  he  continued,  "and 
they  take  rank  according  to  what  they  are, 
as  men  and  women,  not  according  to  what 
their  parents  were." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her?"  Emily  asked, 
drawing  a  step  nearer  and  looking  at  him 
seriously. 

"If  you  put  a  strong,  healthy  man  and  a 
strong,  healthy  woman  together,"  he  replied, 
"love  will  come." 

"Then  why  don't  you  ask  her?"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"I  think  I  will,"  said  Freeman. 

Emily  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 
"You  foolish  creature!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Still  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  any 
worse  to  be  snapped  up  by  Smith  than  by 
me."  She  had  finished  putting  on  her  gloves 
and  turned  to  the  table  for  her  purse  and 
bag.  "I  must  be  off,"  she  said. 


EMILY  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT     201 

"I  say,"  said  Freeman,  "what  about  your 
three  hundred  pounds?" 

"That's  all  right,"  she  answered.  "I  for- 
tunately have  my  dressmaker's  check.  I've 
just  got  her  a  new  customer,  so  she  won't 
be  more  than  rather  disagreeable  when  she 
hears  that  my  fourth  engagement  is  broken 
off." 

He  said  nothing,  but  went  to  the  bell  and 
pressed  it. 

"What  are  you  ringing  for?"  she  asked. 

"I  thought  you  were  going,"  he  answered. 
"I  wanted  the  door  opened  for  you." 

"Are  you  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me?" 
she  asked  chaffingly. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said;  "but  weren't  you 
really  going?" 

"I  was  going  to  see  Rose,"  Emily  an- 
swered. "It  would  be  fatal  if  she  turned 
you  out  of  the  house  just  now." 

"Why?"  he  asked.  "It  was  bound  to 
come,  you  know." 

"But  how  could  you  prosecute  your  siege 
of  Smith's  young  heart,"  she  answered,  "if 


202  SMITH 

you  were  banished?  You  must  remember, 
parlour  maids  have  only  one  evening  a  week 
out,  and  in  well-regulated  households  they 
are  not  allowed  to  receive  company  without 
the  chaperonage  of  the  cook." 

"You  think  I'm  joking,"  he  said  seriously, 
"but  I'm  not." 

"Then  I'll  certainly  go  and  appease 
Rose,"  said  Emily.  "I  have  a  peculiar 
knack  for  persuading  people  who've  had  a 
row  that  each  was  in  the  right  and  that 
neither  meant  a  single  word  of  what  they 
said." 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  "and  you 
can  safely  tell  Rose  that  I  am  awfully  sorry 
if  I  offended  her." 

"I'll  fix  it,"  she  said  confidently,  and 
turned  and  went  out. 

A  moment  later  Smith  entered  the  room 
and  stood  standing  at  attention,  as  if  wait- 
ing for  an  order.  Freeman,  who  had  for- 
gotten for  the  moment  that  he  had  rung  the 
bell,  looked  at  her  perplexedly. 


FREEMAN  IS  A  SECOND  TIME 
REJECTED 


CHAPTER    XII 

• 

FREEMAN    IS   A   SECOND    TIME    REJECTED 

SMITH  and  Freeman  stood,  gazing  at  one 
another.  Finally  Smith  broke  the  silence. 
"Did  you  ring,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  he  answered  vaguely. 

"The  drawing-room  indicator  went  up, 
sir,"  said  Smith  politely  but  with  firmness. 

"I  lie  in  my  throat,"  cried  Freeman  vehe- 
mently. "I  rang  by  mistake.  I  thought 
Miss  Chapman  was  going  away.  I'm 
sorry." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Smith,  and  she 
turned  to  go. 

Before  she  reached  the  door  he  called  her 
back.  "I  wonder,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "if 
you  would  bring  me  a  small  drink?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.  "What  would 
you  like,  sir?" 

"1  think  a  little  drop  of  whiskey  and  soda 
would  exactly  fit  the  case,"  he  suggested. 
205 


206  SMITH 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Smith,  and  she  dis- 
appeared. 

He  had  never  seen  her  more  professional 
and  parlour-maidish.  When  she  had  gone, 
he  dropped  into  the  armchair  by  the  fire  and 
tried  to  think  clearly.  Like  most  strong, 
self-confident  men,  convention  counted  for 
very  little  with  him.  There  was  even  an 
exhilaration  in  the  prospect  of  defying  it. 
The  difficult  question  was  whether  what  he 
proposed  to  do  was  fair  to  the  girl,  whether 
as  individuals  they  were  really  suited  to  each 
other  and  might  be  expected  to  work  out  a 
useful  and  happy  life  together.  Without 
being  in  love  with  her,  from  the  physical 
point  of  view  she  attracted  him  greatly.  Her 
strong,  lithe  figure  and  perfect  skin  were 
radiant  with  health  and  feminine  charm. 
Her  eyes  and  hair  any  woman  might  have 
envied,  as  well  as  the  double  row  of  regular 
white  teeth,  and  her  large,  well-cut  mouth. 
As  far  as  he  knew  or  could  judge,  her  char- 
acter seemed  as  exceptional  as  her  physical 


AGAIN  REJECTED  207 

organisation.  Freeman  was  a  believer  in 
what  the  expression  of  the  human  mouth 
reveals  of  the  individual  and,  judging  by 
that,  Smith's  was  a  fine,  high-minded  per- 
sonality with  that  meekness  which,  when  it  is 
born  of  strength,  is  one  of  the  most  attractive 
of  feminine  qualities.  However,  his  mental 
debatings  were  cut  short  by  her  return  with 
the  tray,  on  which  stood  the  decanter,  glass 
and  soda  bottle. 

"Thank   you,"   he   said.     "This   is   very 


nice." 


"Is  that  all,  sir?"  she  asked. 

He  pretended  to  be  busy  pouring  out  the 
soda  and  not  to  hear.  She  waited  for  a 
moment  and  then  started  towards  the  door. 
"Oh,  Smith,"  he  called  after  her,  "what  are 
you  doing  now?" 

She  stopped  and  looked  back  at  him  ques- 
tioningly.  "I  was  just  going  to  decant  the 
claret  for  dinner,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  he  said,  helping  himself 
rather  mechanically  to  the  drink  before  him. 


208  SMITH 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,  that  is,  I  see  that  you 
have  been  having  a  great  game  with  my 
clothes." 

"Me,  sir?"  said  Smith  perplexed. 

"You've  marked  every  confounded  thing 
that  I  have  with  a  large  T.  F.,"  he  answered. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  she  began,  "I  thought— 

"Don't  think  I'm  not  grateful,"  he  said 
quickly.  "It's  awfully  jolly  of  you  to  have 
put  my  things  in  good  order." 

"Well,  I  think  they  are  in  reasonably  good 
order  now,  sir,"  she  assented.  "Wherever 
you  go,  no  one  will  be  able  to  say  you're  not 
decent." 

"And  that's  a  very  jolly  thing  to  be,  isn't 
it?"  he  went  on. 

"Well,"  said  Smith,  "some  people  seem  to 
like  going  about  in  rags."  She  seemed  to 
consider  that  her  duties  in  the  drawing-room 
were  at  an  end  and  slowly  started  again  for 
the  door. 

He  watched  her,  despairing  of  making 
conversation,  for  she  was  apparently  in  an 
ultra  professional  mood.  "You  see,  at 


AGAIN  REJECTED  209 

home,"  he  called  after  her,  "I  haven't  got 
anyone  to  look  after  me." 

This  last  shot  took  effect.  The  statement 
aroused  her  interest  and  the  result  of  their 
previous  and  more  human  conversations  was 
to  make  it  easier  for  her  to  be  drawn  into  an 
expression  of  personal  opinion.  "Haven't 
you  got  a  woman  in  the  house  at  all,  sir?" 
she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  and  smiled  one  of  her 
faint,  inscrutable,  delightful  smiles,  such  a 
smile  as  she  had  indulged  in  freely  with  Mr. 
Fletcher,  the  janitor,  but  now  properly  re- 
duced in  size  and  intensity  out  of  respect  to 
Mrs.  Dallas-Baker's  drawing-room.  "It 
must  be  in  a  state,"  she  observed. 

He  half  pretended  to  resent  the  remark. 
"I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  said. 

"Well,"  said  Smith,  "I  always  say  that  a 
farmhouse  wants  a  mistress.  There's  some- 
thing to  do  from  morning  till  night  and  a 
man  can't  do  half  what  a  woman  can." 

Freeman  was  too  delighted  with  his  sue- 


210  SMITH 

cess  to  trust  himself  to  look  at  her.  He 
sipped  his  whiskey  and  soda  and  answered 
gravely,  "That's  entirely  a  matter  of  opin- 
ion. By  the  way,"  he  added,  "would  you 
like  to  look  at  my  farm?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  should,"  she  answered  simply. 

He  rose,  went  to  the  writing  table,  and  in 
a  moment  returned  with  the  surveyor's  map 
of  his  land. 

"Oh!"  said  Smith,  with  a  shade  of  disap- 
pointment, "I  thought  you'd  got  some  pho- 
tographs, sir;  I  don't  know  what  all  that 


means." 


"I'll  show  you,"  he  said.  "Now,  look 
here.  That's  corn  and  that's  pasture,  and 
there's  the  river  running  right  through  it. 
It's  worth  a  pot  of  money,  that  river.  Sweet 
water  for  the  stock  all  the  year  around.  And 
look  at  that  little  blue  square  there;  that's 
my  house,  and  not  a  half  bad  house,  either." 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  look  in  the  corners," 
said  Smith  demurely.  "I  expect  there's  a 
lot  of  dust  and  dirt  in  them." 

Their  heads  had  been  close  together,  as 


AGAIN  REJECTED  211 

they  bent  over  the  map,  and  the  thin,  clean 
fragrance  of  her  hair  came  to  him  and  made 
his  pulses  throb.  Suddenly  she  looked  up 
and  stepped  back,  feeling  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her. 

"Hello,"  said  Freeman,  "why  are  you 
blushing?" 

"I'm  not  blushing,"  said  Smith,  with 
spirit;  "but  it  makes  me  uncomfortable  when 
you  stare  at  me." 

Freeman  looked  at  her  with  mock  gravity. 
"What's  your  health  like?"  he  demanded. 

"My  health?"  she  answered  vaguely.  "I 
don't  know;  I  never  think  about  it." 

"That  looks  as  if  you  hadn't  much  to  com- 
plain about,"  he  observed. 

"Servants,  you  know,  sir,"  she  went  on, 
"can't  afford  to  make  a  fuss  every  time  they 
have  a  finger  ache." 

"Ever  ill  in  bed?"  he  asked. 

"Not  since  I  was  quite  a  little  tot,  sir," 
she  replied.  Her  face  showed  her  surprise 
at  his  questions,  but  he  went  on  without  sat- 
isfying it. 


212  SMITH 

"Can  you  cook?"  he  asked. 

"You  do  ask  me  funny  questions/'  she 
said,  at  last. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said  severely.  "It's  a 
very  reasonable  question.  If  you're  think- 
ing of  going  to  Xew  South  Wales,  it's  most 
important  that  you  should  be  able  to  cook. 
What  do  you  think  would  be  the  use  of  hav- 
ing a  good  hand  with  silver  out  there?" 

She  said  nothing  for  a  moment  and 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  recall  something  to 
mind.  Finally  she  spoke:  "Was  the  din- 
ner you  had  on  Friday  all  right,  sir?"  she 
asked. 

"I  quite  forget,"  he  answered. 

Smith  smiled  again.  "I  expect  it  was,  or 
else  you  would  have  noticed  it,"  she  said. 
"Men  are  always  the  same.  If  things  go 
right,  they  don't  notice  anything;  but  if 
there's  the  smallest  thing  wrong,  they 
grumble  for  a  week." 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed  reproachfully,  "I 
think  that's  putting  it  rather  strong. 
Women  are  much  more  exacting  than  men." 


AGAIN  REJECTED  213 

"Well,  it's  my  experience,  sir,"  she 
replied. 

"But  what  about  the  dinner  on  Friday?" 
he  demanded. 

"Nothing,  sir,"  she  answered;  "only  cook 
had  one  of  her  sick  headaches,  and  I  did  it." 

"You  don't  have  sick  headaches,  do  you?" 
he  asked. 

Smith  laughed  outright  at  this.  "Me, 
sir?"  she  said.  "I've  never  had  a  sick  head- 
ache in  my  life." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly,  but  main- 
tained his  mock-serious,  rather  fault-finding 
expression.  "I  dare  say  you  can  do  fal-lalla 
and  fancy  things,"  he  began.  He  saw  that 
she  was  puzzled,  and  explained.  "I  was  go- 
ing back  to  Friday's  dinner,"  he  said. 

"You  do  jump  about  so,  sir!"  she  said 
rather  hopelessly. 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  he  answered,  "but  the 
point  is,  can  you  do  good,  honest,  English 
cooking?" 

"When  mother  wasn't  well,  I  cooked  for 
thirteen  often  and  often  at  home,"  she  re- 


214  SMITH 

plied.  Her  manner  was  simple  and  respect- 
ful, as  it  invariably  was,  but  there  was  a 
faint  note  of  scorn  in  her  voice  that  delighted 
Freeman. 

"Were  you  happy  at  home?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,"  she  answered.  "I  like  a 
farm.  I  wouldn't  ever  have  come  away,  if 
there  hadn't  been  so  many  of  us." 

Freeman  was  silent  a  moment.  He  was 
weighing  the  pros  and  cons  for  the  last  time 
and  with  as  much  deliberation  as  he  ever 
gave  to  his  personal  affairs.  "I  don't  know 
why  you  are  so  particularly  struck  on  New 
South  Wales,"  he  said  at  length. 

"Well,  you  see,  sir,"  she  answered,  "I've 
got  my  sister  there." 

"I  suppose  that  is  a  reason,"  he  said. 
"However,  I  wonder  if  you  would  like 
Rhodesia?  It's  a  jolly  climate  and  the 
country's  coming  on  like  anything.  You'd 
be  very  useful  on  my  farm." 

"Well,  sir,"  she  answered,  "I  couldn't  very 
well  come  to  you,  when  there's  no  lady  in 
the  house,  could  I?" 


AGAIN  REJECTED  215 

She  took  the  empty  glass  from  the  card 
table,  where  he  had  placed  it,  and  put  it  on 
the  tray.  "Shall  I  take  the  whiskey  away, 
sir?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded.  But  as  she  turned  to  go  he 
stopped  her  and,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone, 
as  if  he  were  inquiring  the  day  of  the  month, 
said:  "Will  you  marry  me?" 

Smith  turned  on  him  with  a  face  blazing 
with  indignation.  "Me,  sir?"  she  said, 
stiffly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you,  Smith.  By  the 
way,  what  is  your  name?" 

"Smith,  sir,"  she  answered  shortly. 

"I  meant  your  Christian  name,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  quiet  dignity 
that  admitted  no  evasion.  "I  prefer  to  be 
called  Smith,  sir,"  she  replied. 

But  Freeman  was  not  to  be  snubbed. 
"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"In  the  houses  that  I've  been  used  to," 
she  answered,  "the  servants  have  always  been 
called  by  their  surnames,  except  the  foot- 


216  SMITH 

men."  She  picked  up  the  tray  and  started 
for  the  door. 

Without  seeming  to  threaten  her  or  bar 
her  passage,  he  placed  himself  before  it. 
"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  going  to  decant  the  claret,  sir," 
she  answered.  "The  master  likes  it  to  stand 
before  dinner." 

"I  see,"  said  Freeman  politely,  "but  has 
it  slipped  your  memory  that  I  asked  you  a 
question?" 

She  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "You 
were  only  laughing  at  me,  sir,"  she  said. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  earnestly; 
"I  was  doing  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  was 
very  much  in  earnest."  He  broke  off,  notic- 
ing a  look  of  perplexity  on  her  face  that 
apparently  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  ques- 
tion that  he  was  asking  to  have  answered. 
"What's  the  matter,  now?"  he  demanded. 

"I  was  wondering,  sir,"  she  answered  de- 
murely, "how  I  was  going  to  get  through 
that  door  with  you  standing  in  front  of  it." 

He  took  the  tray  from  her  with  gentle 


AGAIN  REJECTED  217 

firmness  and  put  it  on  the  table.  Then  he 
planted  himself  before  her.  "Now,"  he  said, 
"I  am  certainly  not  going  to  let  you  get  out 
of  the  room  till  youVe  answered  me.  Hang 
it  all,  you  don't  get  a  serious  proposal  of 
marriage  every  day.  You  might  give  it 
serious  attention." 

Smith  stiffened  herself  and  took  a  step  as 
if  she  would  pass  him.  "Thank  you  very 
much,  sir,"  she  said  with  dignity,  "but  I 
don't  think  it  would  do." 

"What?"  he  said  in  amazement;  "not  do? 
And  why  not?" 

"Well,  sir,"  she  answered,  "for  one  thing, 
I'm  a  domestic  servant  and  you're  a  gentle- 


man." 


"Oh,  no;  I'm  not,"  he  answered  quickly. 
"I've  long  given  up  that  delusion.  I'll 
grant  you  I  was  a  gentleman,"  he  went  on. 
"I  used  to  hunt  and  buy  my  clothes  in 
Saville  Row;  I  belonged  to  three  clubs,  and 
used  to  take  chorus  girls  to  supper  at  the 
Savoy;  but  I'm  not  a  gentleman,  now." 

His  earnestness  had  a  curious  effect  upon 


218  SMITH 

Smith.  "Oh,  yes,  you  are,  sir,"  she  said 
insistently.  "I  knew  it  the  moment  I  saw 
you." 

"Don't  be  so  disagreeable,"  said  Free- 
man. "I  ought  to  know.  And  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  call  me  'sir'  every  other  minute.  It 
does  put  one  off,  when  one  is  making  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage." 

Smith  looked  at  him,  uncertain  whether  to 
smile  or  not.  "I  think  I  know  my  place, 
sir,"  she  said  gravely,  and  made  a  movement 
to  take  the  tray  again,  but  again  he  checked 
her. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  have  forgotten 
mine,"  he  suggested. 

"It's  not  for  me  to  say,  sir,"  she  replied 
meekly,  but  with  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

He  smiled.  "Well,  that's  proof  positive 
that  I'm  not  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 

Smith,  feeling  herself  defeated  at  dia- 
lectic, shifted  her  ground.  "I  don't  hold 
with  people  marrying  out  of  their  proper 
station,"  she  said.  "I've  never  seen  any 
good  come  of  it." 


AGAIN  REJECTED  219 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  general  reflec- 
tions," he  replied.  "What  I  want  is  a 
straightforward  answer." 

"I  thought  I  gave  it  to  you,  sir,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Freeman  made  a  grimace  and  winced.  "It 
wasn't  the  right  one,"  he  said.  "I  think  you 
had  better  try  again." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "It  wouldn't 
be  right,"  she  said.  Then,  as  if  asking  her- 
self a  question,  she  added  half  aloud,  "What 
would  the  mistress  say?" 

Freeman  smiled.  "I  dare  say  her  obser- 
vations would  be  a  little  pointed,"  he  an- 
swered; "but  you  know  hard  words  break 
no  bones."  She  bent  down  for  a  third  time 
to  lift  the  tray  with  the  decanter  and  a  third 
time  he  stopped  her.  "Come,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  "don't  let's  talk  nonsense.  You'll 
make  me  a  very  good  wife,  and  I'll  try  to 
make  you  a  good  husband.  I've  got  a  com- 
fortable home  to  take  you  to,  and  you'll  be 
your  own  mistress,  which  is  much  better  than 
being  in  service." 


220  SMITH 

She  smiled,  as  if  inwardly  amused. 
"That's  what  Fletcher  said  only  last  week," 
she  observed. 

"Fletcher?"  he  exclaimed,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise.  "Who  the  dickens  is 
Fletcher?" 

"He's  the  porter,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"And  has  he  been  making  you  a  proposal 
of  marriage?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  simply. 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  Freeman  ex- 
claimed. "And  what  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"I  didn't  say  yes  and  I  didn't  say  no," 
Smith  replied. 

"I  see,"  said  Freeman,  "you're  keeping 
him  dangling." 

"I  can't  make  up  my  mind,"  she  replied. 

"You  made  up  your  mind  about  me 
jolly  quick,"  he  said,  with  an  aggrieved 
air. 

"Oh,  well,  sir,"  she  answered,  "you're  dif- 
ferent. He's  very  much  more  suitable." 

"That's  flattering,"  said  Freeman  grimly. 

"I  don't  mean  it  rudely,"  said  Smith;  "but 


AGAIN  REJECTED  221 

when  I  marry,  I  want  to  marry  a  working- 


man." 


Freeman  laughed  aloud.  "God  bless  my 
soul!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you  sup- 
pose I  am?  I  bet  you,  I  do  more  work  in 
a  day  than  half  a  dozen  Fletchers  in  a  week." 

"Brain  work,"  said  Smith,  with  calm 
assurance.  "I  don't  count  that." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  went  on  indignantly. 
"Manual  labour,  my  child." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  gentlemen  call  manual 
labour,"  Smith  replied  firmly,  "looking  on 
while  people  they  pay  wages  do  the  work." 

"You  know  I  shall  slap  you  in  a  minute," 
said  Freeman,  with  a  laugh. 

Even  his  pleasantry  did  not  recall  Smith 
to  an  immediate  sense  of  her  professional 
self.  Her  contempt  for  amateur  manual 
labourers  was  too  deep  and,  once  stirred,  it 
was  bound  to  find  expression.  "I've  seen 
gentlemen  farmers  at  work,"  she  said.  "You 
know  what  we  say  about  them  down  our 
way?  'Neither  gentlemen  nor  farmers.' ' 

Freeman   laughed   again.     "That's   kind 


222  SMITH 

of  you,  I'm  sure,"  he  said.  "But  in  South 
Africa  things  are  very  different." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  apply  it  to  you,  sir," 
she  said  hastily  and  in  some  alarm. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  answered.  "What 
I  want  to  find  out  is  what  you  want  in  a 
husband?" 

"Me,  sir?"  she  asked  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes,  you,"  he  replied.  "I  suppose  you 
know." 

Smith  thought  a  moment.  "Well,  I 
wouldn't  have  a  lazy  man,"  she  began. 

"Please  note,"  he  put  in,  "that  I'm  up  a 
good  hour  before  anybody  else  in  this 
house." 

"I  don't  say  you're  not  an  early  riser," 
she  assented. 

"Well,  that's  in  my  favour,  to  begin  with," 
he  said. 

"It's  a  great  bother,"  she  said,  "when  I 
want  to  do  the  drawing-room  every  morning 
to  find  you  sitting  in  it  at  half -past  seven." 

"We'll  pass  that  by,"  he  suggested. 
"What  else  do  you  want  in  a  husband?" 


AGAIN  REJECTED  223 

"Well,"  she  answered,  "I  want  a  man 
who's  got  a  strong  pair  of  arms.  The  way 
I  look  on  it  is  this:  One  never  knows  what's 
going  to  happen.  A  man  may  be  thrown 
out  of  work,  but  if  he's  not  above  putting 
his  hand  to  anything,  and  he's  got  a  strong 
pair  of  arms,  he  won't  starve  in  England  or 
anywhere  else." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  said  Freeman,  "and 
now  I  invite  you  to  feel  my  muscle."  He 
doubled  up  his  biceps  and  Smith  touched  it 
lightly  with  her  fingers. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "it's  gentleman's 
strength.  I  know  that.  It's  all  very  well 
for  playing  games  with,  but  when  it  comes 
to  useful  things,  to  carrying  a  heavy  box  up 
five  flights  of  stairs—" 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  triumphant 
laugh.  "My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "I  was 
luggage  porter  for  six  months  in  the  best 
hotel  in  Johannesburg." 

Smith  looked  at  him  in  open  astonishment. 
"You,  sir?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  I,"  he  answered,  "and  glad  to  get 


224  SMITH 

it,  too.  That's  one  in  the  eye  for  Fletcher, 
isn't  it?" 

Smith  tossed  her  head  slightly.  "Fletcher's 
very  wiry  and  willing,"  she  said  in  reply. 
"He  says  he  can  bend  an  iron  bar  with  his 
hands,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  was 
true." 

"I  would,"  said  Freeman  ungenerously. 
"More  than  that,  I  don't  see  much  good  in 
being  able  to  bend  an  iron  bar  with  one's 
hands." 

Smith  considered  the  matter  for  a  mo- 
ment. "Neither  do  I,  sir,"  she  said  consci- 
entiously, "but  it  looks  well." 

"No,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "too 
showy  for  my  taste." 

She  made  no  reply,  but,  picking  up  her 
tray,  started  for  the  door.  He  was  still 
standing  in  her  path  and  she  stopped  when 
she  reached  him  and  dropped  her  eyes. 
"You  won't  take  it  amiss  my  having  said 
'no'  to  you,  sir?"  she  asked  shyly. 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  said;  "it's  the  fortune  of 


war." 


AGAIN  REJECTED  225 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "one  has  to  think 
of  one's  self  in  these  matters,  doesn't 
one?" 

"I,  for  one,  do,"  he  answered. 

"And  now,  sir,  if  you  please,  may  I  go  and 
decant  the  wine  for  dinner?"  she  pleaded. 

"You  may,"  he  said.  Then  a  flash  of 
reckless  fun  woke  in  him  and  he  stepped 
in  front  of  her  again.  "Won't  you  give  me 
a  kiss?"  he  asked.  He  waited  .for  her  an- 
swer, wondering  whether  the  lightnings  of 
her  just  indignation  would  consume  him 
utterly.  He  was  prepared  even  for  bodily 
violence.  To  his  surprise,  she  looked  him 
quietly  in  the  eyes  and  said:  "If  it  will  give 
you  any  pleasure,  sir." 

"Upon  my  word!"  he  exclaimed,  "you're 
such  a  sensible  girl,  it  quite  takes  my  breath 
away!  Anyone  else  would  have  made  no 
end  of  fuss  about  my  impudence!" 

Smith  smiled  demurely.  "Oh,  well,  sir," 
she  said,  "what  I  say  is,  no  great  harm's  done 
by  a  kiss."  She  put  her  cheek  out,  as  if  in 
a  spirit  of  bravado,  and  he  kissed  it. 


226  SMITH 

"Well,  I'm  dashed!"  he  exclaimed,  and 
she  disappeared  through  the  doorway. 

Freeman  was  somewhat  roughly  awak- 
ened from  contemplating  the  sensation 
which  Smith's  original  course  of  action  had 
aroused  in  him  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn. The  youth  had  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  seemed  warm,  out  of  breath 
and  in  a  hurry. 

"Where's  Rose?"  he  demanded. 

"I  think  she  is  in  her  room,"  said  Free- 
man, "with  Miss  Chapman." 

"Oh !"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  He  thought 
a  moment,  then  went  to  the  door  and  called 
down  the  passage.  "I  say,  Smith,  tell  Mrs. 
Dallas-Baker  I'm  here."  Then  he  came 
back  and  dropped  into  his  favourite  chair. 
"Freeman!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  a  hero! 
Upon  my  soul,  I  am!" 

"Unquestionably  you  behaved  with  great 
nobility,"  said  Freeman  laughing. 

"I  did,"  said  Peppercorn.  "And  I  sup- 
pose you  have  been  havin'  hysterics,  what?" 

"I   averted   that   catastrophe,"   Freeman 


AGAIN  REJECTED  227 

answered,  "by  the  application  of  a  small 
whiskey  and  soda."  He  broke  off  as  Rose 
pushed  the  door  open  and  came  in,  followed 
by  Emily  Chapman.  She  glanced  at  her 
brother  without  any  great  affection,  but  in 
a  manner  that  evidently  indicated  that 
Emily's  efforts  at  peace-making  had  been 
successful. 

"Well?"  she  said,  addressing  Peppercorn. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "I  took  her  home 
according  to  orders." 

"Was  she  much  upset?"  Emily  asked. 

"She  did  seem  a  bit  put  out,  don't  you 
know,"  replied  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "She 
kept  on  saying,  'What  will  Otto  say?' ' 

"Silly  little  fool!"  Rose  exclaimed.  "She's 
frightened  to  death  of  Otto." 

"She  is,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn.  "But 
then  he  makes  himself  awfully  unpleasant. 
I  suppose  he'll  make  a  regular  fuss  about 
this!" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Rose.  "He's  dread- 
fully common." 

"It  will  be  very  vulgar  of  him,  won't  it," 


228  SMITH 

said  Freeman  gravely,  "if  he  is  annoyed  at 
his  baby's  death?" 

Rose  shot  him  a  look,  but  what  she  had  in 
mind  to  say  she  left  unsaid,  for  Smith  en- 
tered the  room. 

"If  you  please,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "I  can't 
draw  the  cork  of  the  claret  the  master  put 
out  for  dinner." 

"Then  you  had  better  ask  Fletcher  to  do 
it,"  said  Rose. 

"Fletcher  was  in  the  kitchen,  ma'am," 
Smith  replied.  "He's  tried  already." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Fletcher  can't 
draw  a  cork?"  said  Freeman.  "I  thought 
he  was  a  kind  of  young  Hercules." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Smith,  "if  he  can't  draw 
it,  nobody  can." 

"Bring  the  bottle,"  he  answered,  "and  let 
me  have  a  shot." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  she  said,  and  went  out. 

"I  wish  I  could  stop  on,"  said  Emily 
Chapman,  "and  see  the  end  of  the  cork,  but 
I  must  be  going.  Good-bye,  Rose,  dear." 


AGAIN  REJECTED  229 

"Good-bye,"  Rose  answered.  "Please 
forgive  these  domestic  details." 

"I  like  them,"  said  Emily.  "Smith  looks 
upon  me  as  a  member  of  the  family."  She 
held  out  her  hand  to  Freeman.  "Good-bye 
and  good  luck,"  she  said. 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered;  "thank  you 
very  much." 

It  may  have  been  something  in  Freeman's 
tone  or  in  his  manner  that  excited  Mr.  Pep- 
percorn's lively  sense  of  curiosity.  At  all 
events,  his  eyes  lit  up.  "What  are  you 
wishing  him  good  luck  in?"  he  demanded. 

Emily  smiled.  "His  matrimonial  schemes," 
she  replied. 

"Like  those  of  mice  and  men,"  Freeman 
observed,  "they  'gang  oft  agley.' ' 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn, 
"don't  talk  Scotch  to  us.  You  should  take 
my  advice  and  put  an  advertisement  In  the 
Telegraph:9 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  that  I  shall  be 
driven  to  it,"  said  Freeman. 


230  SMITH 

"Good-bye  again,"  said  Emily,  and  she 
waved  her  hand  at  Freeman  and  went  out 
arm  in  arm  with  Rose. 

In  a  moment  Smith  returned  with  the 
bottle  of  claret.  "Fletcher's  had  another 
try  at  it,  sir,  and  he  can't  move  it,"  she  said. 
"Is  there  any  use  of  your  trying?" 

"Fletcher's  a  donkey,"  said  Freeman. 
He  took  the  bottle  from  her  and,  gripping 
it  between  his  knees,  made  a  mighty  effort, 
but  the  cork  never  budged. 

Smith  watched  him  with  an  air  of  polite 
disinterestedness,  but  beneath  the  profes- 
sional Smith,  Freeman  knew  that  Smith,  the 
woman,  was  sitting  in  judgment  upon  him. 
The  veins  in  his  head  began  to  swell,  but  the 
cork  withstood  him. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  strain  yourself,  sir," 
she  said  politely.  She  dropped  her  eyes,  but 
the  faint  glimmer  of  a  smile  was  on  her  lips. 

"Shut  up!"  he  exclaimed  wrathfully  and, 
throwing  every  pound  of  himself  into  the 
effort,  the  refractory  cork  slowly  began  to 
come  and  left  the  bottle  with  a  little  pop. 


AGAIN  REJECTED  231 

"Upon  my  soul,"  exclaimed  Algy,  admir- 
ingly, "you  are  a  strong  beast!" 

Freeman  handed  the  bottle  to  Smith,  who 
looked  at  him  without  expression,  and  then 
gravely  untwisted  the  cork  from  the  cork- 
screw. "You  can  give  the  cork  to  Fletcher 
with  my  compliments,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
he'd  like  to  wear  it  on  his  watch  chain." 

Without  making  any  response,  except  a 
whispered  "Thank  you,  sir,"  she  turned  and 
left  the  room. 


SMITH  AND  FREEMAN  CON- 
TINUE DISCUSSION 


CHAPTER    XIII 

SMITH  AND  FREEMAN   CONTINUE  DISCUSSION 

FOR  five  days,  peace,  if  not  good  will, 
reigned  in  the  Dallas-Baker  abode.  Rose 
treated  her  brother  with  at  least  outward 
civility  and,  on  his  part,  Tom  took  pains  to 
refrain  from  criticising  her  or  interfering  in 
any  way  with  the  life  of  the  household.  Dur- 
ing this  time  he  saw  Smith  only  as  she  served 
him  at  meals  or  as  he  met  her  about  the 
house.  He  avoided  scrupulously  any  con- 
versation that  might  embarrass  her  or  put 
her  at  a  disadvantage.  Emily  Chapman  he 
did  not  see  at  all.  Since  the  day  that  he  had 
been  refused  both  by  her  and  Smith  she 
had  avoided  Credinton  Court.  However, 
he  had  received  a  note  from  her,  for  that 
evening,  after  she  had  gone,  he  had  written  a 
check  for  three  hundred  pounds  and  had  sent 
it  to  her.  Her  gratitude  had  been  deep  and 
sincere,  but  she  had  shown  no  symptoms  of 
235 


236  SMITH 

changing  her  mind  as  regards  her  deter- 
mination not  to  marry  him.  And  when 
Freeman  was  honest  with  himself,  he  not 
only  gave  her  the  credit  of  acting  upon  high 
motives,  but  he  congratulated  himself  upon 
an  escape.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  since  Smith 
had  refused  him,  he  had  begun  to  regard 
her  in  a  wholly  different  light.  It  was  not 
that  he  merely  wanted  to  get  married,  but 
that  he  wanted  to  marry  her.  As  well  as  he 
could  judge  in  his  saner  and  better  ordered 
moments,  he  was  in  love.  But  no  fairy 
princess,  or  flesh  and  blood  royalty  seemed 
farther  away  and  more  impossible  of  attain- 
ment than  Smith.  "For,  after  all,"  as  he 
thought  it  out  to  himself,  "one  can  with  de- 
cency try  to  scale  a  fairy  princess's  tower  or 
elope  with  the  daughter  of  a  royal  highness, 
yet  it  is  quite  impossible  to  annoy  a  parlour 
maid  with  attentions  which  she  does  not  care 
to  encourage."  So  he  decided  to  grin  and 
bear  it,  as  he  had  grinned  and  borne  many 
things  before  and  as  his  philosophy  of  life 
prescribed. 


FURTHER  DISCUSSION      237 

One  rainy  Sunday  morning  he  was  lying 
on  the  window  seat  in  the  drawing-room  with 
a  book,  which  he  pretended  to  read.  His 
perusal  of  the  page  had  become  a  pretence, 
when  Smith  came  in  with  a  tray  on  which 
were  half-a-dozen  vases  of  fresh  flowers. 
She  deposited  the  tray  on  the  table  and  was 
disposing  the  vases  about  the  room  as  her 
sense  of  aesthetic  fitness  determined.  The 
last  bowl  of  roses  evidently  troubled  her,  for 
she  tried  it  in  various  positions  and,  after 
each  new  experiment,  withdrew  to  the 
middle  of  the  room  to  witness  and  weigh  the 
effect. 

The  fourth  time  that  the  bowl  underwent 
a  removal,  Freeman  looked  up  from  his  book 
and  smiled.  "They  were  all  right  before," 
he  said  quietly,  "don't  you  think  so?" 

Smith  started  and  turned  toward  him. 
"You  did  give  me  a  shock,  sir!"  she  said 
naively.  "I  thought  you  were  reading." 

"When  you  came  in,  I  suddenly  discov- 
ered that  I  had  something  better  to  do,"  he 
replied. 


238  SMITH 

She  made  no  answer,  but  set  the  roses  on 
the  piano  top,  and  Freeman  went  on:  "It 
may  interest  you  to  know  that  I  am  going 
away  next  week." 

"We  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  sir,"  she 
answered  respectfully. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  drily;  "but  I  can't 
flatter  myself  that  it  will  disturb  your  night's 
rest." 

"It  would  take  a  lot  to  do  that,"  she  said. 
Her  manner  was  so  perfect  that  he  was  un- 
able to  decide  whether  there  was  irony  in  her 
remark  or  not.  He  suspected  that  there 
was,  having  become  familiar  with  the  humor- 
ous possibilities  of  the  human  underlying 
Smith ;  but  she  shielded  herself  so  completely 
behind  the  parlour  maid  that  he  had  no  point 
of  attack  open  to  him. 

"Is  there  anything  else,  sir?"  she  added. 

"Nothing,  thank  you,"  he  answered. 

She  started  for  the  door  with  her  tray  and 
then,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  turned 
about  and  came  towards  him.  "Excuse  me, 
sir,"  she  said,  and  hesitated. 


FURTHER  DISCUSSION      239 

"Yes?"  he  replied  encouragingly. 

"I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind 
to  me,  sir,"  she  said  shyly. 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  he  answered. 
"I've  not  noticed  that  I've  been  particularly 
kind." 

"You  have,"  said  Smit>h.  "Many  gentle- 
men would  have  taken  advantage  of — of 
what  you  said  last  week  to  be  familiar." 

"I  could  hardly  look  upon  it  as  encour- 
agement to  be  familiar  when  you  refused  to 
marry  me,"  he  replied. 

"Or  you  might  have  been  short  with  me," 
she  went  on.  "I  know  it's  silly,  when  you 
are  in  a  situation,  but  I  don't  like  it 
when  people  talk  to  you  as  if  you  were  a 
dog." 

"Now  you  are  being  idiotic,"  said  Free- 
man. "You'd  better  get  on  with  your 
work." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  and  turned  away,  but 
before  she  had  reached  the  door  he  called 
her  back. 

"Just   a   moment,"   he   said.     "It   never 


240  SMITH 

struck  me  that  I  might  be  making  it  rather 
uncomfortable  for  you  here." 

"Well,"  Smith  answered  frankly,  "it  isn't 
your  fault,  sir;  but  cook  says  she  thinks  I 
ought  to  give  notice." 

Freeman  laughed  drily.  "So  you  have 
discussed  it  with  cook?"  he  said. 

"You  don't  mind,  sir,  do  you?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  answered.  "You  can  dis- 
cuss it  with  the  dustman,  if  you  like." 

"Well,  sir,"  she  went  on,  "mother  asked 
cook  to  keep  an  eye  on  me,  so  I  thought  I 
had  better  tell  her  what  you  said.  Though 
the  fact  is,"  she  added,  "I  keep  more  of  an 
eye  on  cook." 

"Do  you?"  asked  Freeman  with  an  amused 
smile. 

"Yes,"  said  Smith.  "It  seems  to  me  that 
single  women,  when  they  get  near  forty, 
always  become  rather  silly  about  men." 

Freeman  chuckled.  "And  what  did  you 
say  to  cook  when  she  advised  you  to  leave?" 
he  asked. 


FURTHER  DISCUSSION     241 

"I  said  I  didn't  know  how  she'd  manage 
without  me,"  Smith  answered  frankly. 

Freeman  threw  his  head  back  and 
laughed,  but  Smith's  gravity  remained  un- 
disturbed. 

"I  see  that  you  have  a  proper  opinion  of 
yourself,"  he  said. 

"Well,  it's  not  everyone  who  could  get 
on  with  cook,  sir,"  she  answered,  "so  I 
thought  I'd  wait  a  week  and  see  what  hap- 
pened." 

"On  cook's  account?"  he  suggested. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Smith. 

"Well,  I  hope  I  haven't  made  myself 
very  objectionable,"  he  observed  gravely. 

"No,  sir,"  she  said,  "that's  what  I  wanted 
to  thank  you  for.  You've  been  just  the 
same  as  you  were  before,  except—  she 
added  with  a  note  of  regret  in  her  voice — 
"that  you  used  to  chat  a  little  with  me  now 
and  then,  and  you  haven't  said  a  word  to  me 
until  to-day." 

"I've  thought  a  good  deal,"  he  said 
gravely. 


242  SMITH 

She  looked  at  him,  perplexed.  "Have 
you,  sir?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  have  thought  a 
good  deal  about  you  and  I  think  you  are 
a  very  good  girl  and  that  the  man  who  mar- 
ries you  will  be  a  devilish  lucky  chap.  And 
I  hope,"  he  added,  "that  he  will  be  as  good 
to  you  as  you  deserve." 

Smith  smiled  her  charming,  frank  smile. 
"I  hope  he'll  be  better  than  that,  sir,"  she 
answered. 

"Well,  don't  let  him  know  that  such  a 
thing  is  possible,"  said  Freeman.  He 
picked  up  his  book  feeling  that  he  had  said 
all  that  he  had  a  right  to  say  and  feeling  too, 
that  he  was  drifting  rapidly  into  dangerous 
waters. 

He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  page  and 
held  them  there,  expecting  to  hear  her 
as  she  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  and 
catch  a  parting  look  at  her  as  she  went  out. 
But  the  door  handle  was  not  turned  and  he 
looked  up  a  moment  later  to  find  her  stand- 
ing somewhat  nearer  him  than  she  had  been 


FURTHER  DISCUSSION      243 

with  an  expression  of  shy  and  troubled  con- 
cern on  her  face. 

As  he  caught  her  eye,  she  looked  down. 
"You  didn't  care  the  other  day,"  she  began 
with  evident  difficulty,  "when  I  said  'no/  did 
you,  sir?" 

Freeman  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  sat  up  and  put  his  feet  to  the  floor. 

"No,  curiously  enough,"  he  said  huskily, 
"but,  Smith,  I  care  now." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  looked  at  him  steadily 
and  then  dropped  them  again. 

"I  suppose  that  I  am  like  a  lot  of  people," 
he  went  on,  getting  more  control  of  himself 
as  he  proceeded.  "I  don't  really  want  a 
thing  till  I  can't  get  it.  It's  very  silly,  isn't 
it?  I  asked  you  to  marry  me,  well,  because 
I  wanted  a  wife  and  rather  admired  you, 
and  you  seemed  to  be  on  the  spot.  I  fell 
in  love  with  you  the  minute  you  refused  to 
marry  me." 

"I  don't  believe  if  anyone  was  really  in 
love,"  said  Smith  quietly,  "they  could  make 
jokes  about  it." 


244  SMITH 

"That's  what  we  all  think  when  we  are 
very  young,"  he  answered.  "When  we  get 
older,  we  know  that  circumstances  alter 
cases,  and  we  find  out,  too,  that  making 
jokes  about  things  that  are  very  near  us 
doesn't  mean  that  we  don't  feel.  Rather 
the  opposite." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  that,"  said 
Smith. 

"Well,  suppose  a  man  was  very  shy,"  said 
Freeman.  "Suppose  he  felt  so  deeply  that 
he  couldn't  speak  seriously  about  the  things 
that  were  of  first  importance  to  him;  well, 
joking  about  them  might  seem  the  best  way 
out  of  it." 

"I  can't  make  you  out,  sir,"  said  Smith 
simply. 

"I  wonder  if  it  would  change  your  opin- 
ion about  me,  if  you  could?"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "And  no 
matter  what  I  thought  of  you,  sir,  all  the 
things  that  I  said  were  objections  would  be 
just  as  true,  wouldn't  they,  sir?" 

"Yes,  and  no,"  he  replied.     "When  peo- 


FURTHER  DISCUSSION     245 

pie  care  for  one  another,  I  suspect  that 
objections,  no  matter  how  logical,  don't  seem 
objections  any  longer.  There  always  seems 
a  way  around  them.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "I 
never—  '  she  stopped,  for  a  bell  rang  vio- 
lently in  the  passage. 

"Is  that  the  telephone?"  he  asked. 

"It's  the  front  door,  sir,"  she  answered. 
"I  expect  it's  Mr.  Peppercorn." 

"Hadn't  you  better  let  him  in?"  he  sug- 
gested, suddenly  coming  to  a  realising  sense 
of  things.  He  opened  his  book  and  took  his 
place  on  the  window  seat  again. 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS 


CHAPTER   XIV 

EMILY   MAKES   NEW    PLANS 

FREEMAN,  ensconced  on  the  window  seat, 
had  read  hardly  more  than  a  single  sen- 
tence, when  the  door  opened  again  and 
Smith  announced  Miss  Chapman.  He 
sprang  up,  tossed  the  book  aside,  and  went 
toward  her.  "You're  quite  a  stranger,"  he 
said. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Emily,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand. 

"It's  at  least  a  century  since  you  were 
here,"  he  insisted  gallantly. 

"Five  days,  to  be  precise,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said. 
"I  am  afraid  that  Rose  is  not  in,"  he  went 
on.  "Providence  having  sent  us  a  wet 
Sunday,  Rose  thought  she'd  get  even  with 
Providence  by  taking  Herbert  to  church." 

"I  didn't  come  to  see  Rose,"  Emily  re- 
249 


250  SMITH 

plied,  "and  I  came  at  this  time  because  I 
thought  that  I  might  catch  you  alone." 

He  looked  at  her,  mystified.  "That's 
very  flattering  to  a  man  of  my  age,"  he 
observed. 

"I  wanted  to  thank  you,"  she  said  gravely 
and  with  more  feeling  than  her  voice  usually 
showed. 

"Good  Heavens!  what  for?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "it  was  good  of  you  to 
send  me  that  three  hundred  pounds!" 

"But  you  can't  bring  that  up  against  me 
again,"  he  protested.  "You've  written  the 
most  ample  thanks.  In  fact,  I'm  overcome 
and  mortified  already." 

"You  don't  know  what  it  means,"  she 
went  on,  after  a  pause.  "I've  paid  my  dress- 
maker. For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
haven't  a  debt  in  the  world — except  to  you." 

"You  must  feel  immensely  relieved,"  he 
said  kindly. 

She  laughed.  "Just  at  present,"  she 
said,  "I  feel  rather  lonely." 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    251 

"You'll  get  used  to  it,"  he  answered. 

"But  I've  done  something  else,"  she  con- 
tinued, lowering  her  voice  confidentially. 
"I've  sold  everything  I  possessed." 

"But  why?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"I'm  going  away,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  at  her,  not  understanding 
quite  what  she  meant.  "Are  you,  indeed?" 
he  said  politely. 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  "I've  come  to  say 
good-bye  to  you  all,  and  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  what  I'm  going  to  do,  because  you've 
had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it.  I  hope  you 
won't  think  it's  awfully  silly  of  me,"  she 
added. 

"I  have  no  doubt  I  shall,"  he  observed. 

Emily  smiled  gaily.  "You  know,"  she 
began,  "I  really  did  rather  a  good  action 
when  I  refused  to  marry  you.  Neither  of 
us  cared  two  straws  for  the  other  and  it 
would  have  been  all  to  my  advantage.  But 
I'm  glad  I  released  you.  I  don't  know  just 
why  I  did  it.  It  was  something  stronger 
than  myself,  that  just  took  me  and  made 


252  SMITH 

me.  But  it  was  madness — "  She  paused 
and  laughed.  "Good  actions  are  like  drug 
taking — the  first  step  may  lead  you,  good- 
ness knows,  where." 

He  looked  at  her,  in  comic  alarm.  "You 
fill  me  with  consternation,"  he  said. 

"I  felt  desperately  virtuous,  afterwards," 
she  went  on,  "and  I  had  a  sleepless  night 
or  two  and  I  cried  a  good  deal." 

"I  say,"  Freeman  exclaimed  earnestly,  "I 
am  awfully  sorry!" 

"There  is  no  need  to  be,"  she  answered, 
"because  I  was  quite  happy.  I  don't  know 
what  came  over  me.  I  suddenly  felt  so  hor- 
ribly worthless  and  I  began  to  hate  the  life 
I've  been  leading  for  the  past  ten  years." 

He  looked  at  her  sympathetically.  "I 
expect  you've  had  rather  a  rotten  time,"  he 
said. 

"Rather,"  she  assented.  "Well,  when  I 
began  to  wonder  where  I  was  drifting,  I 
looked  at  myself  in  the  glass  and  shuddered. 
I'm  only  thirty,  and  I'm  a  painted  harridan 
already.  'What  shall  I  be  in  ten  years?'  I 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    253 

thought.  I've  had  enough  of  that  sort  of 
thing,  I  decided,  so  I  began  next  morning 
by  washing  my  face." 

"As  an  economy  or  as  a  symbol?"  Free- 
man asked. 

Emily  laughed.  "Both,"  she  answered. 
"Then  it  seemed  that  I  had  wasted  so  much 
time  that  I  must  try  and  make  amends  for 
it  by  up  and  doing  something  at  once 
towards  earning  an  honest  living.  I  told 
you  the  other  day  that  the  only  talent  I  had 
was  for  playing  bridge.  I  grossly  misled 
you.  I'm  really  not  at  all  a  bad  cook." 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Freeman,  in 
amazement. 

"It's  so,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  you  re- 
member telling  me  that  Smith  was  thinking 
of  emigrating  to  New  South  Wales?  Well, 
I  made  inquiries." 

"You?"  exclaimed  Freeman,  again. 

"Yes,  I,"  said  Emily,  "and  I've  got  a  sec- 
ond class  ticket  in  my  pocket  for  which  I 
haven't  had  to  pay  anything.  I  start  for 
Sydney  at  once,  and  on  my  arrival  I'm 


254  SMITH 

guaranteed  a  place  at  quite  a  decent  sal- 
ary." 

Freeman  gazed  at  her  in  open-mouthed 
amazement.  "But  do  you  know  what  you 
are  in  for?"  he  said.  "I  think  it's  awfully 
brave  of  you." 

"It  isn't  a  bit,"  she  replied  calmly.  "It's 
merely  the  least  of  a  number  of  evils." 

She  stopped,  and  they  both  listened,  for 
they  heard  the  sound  of  a  key  in  the  front 
door,  and  then  of  the  door  opening. 

"It's  Rose  and  Herbert,"  said  Freeman. 

"You  needn't  tell  them  what  I  am  going 
to  do,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "They  wouldn't 
understand." 

Freeman  nodded  assent  and  Rose  came 
in. 

"Oh,  Emily  dear!"  she  exclaimed  with  an 
amiable  enthusiasm,  "I've  been  wondering 
what  on  earth  had  become  of  you!" 

Emily  extended  a  cheek  and  the  two 
women  kissed  one  another  in  a  perfunctory 
way. 

"I've  been  very  busy,"  said  Emily,  in  an- 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS     255 

swer  to  Rose's  question.  "I've  had  a  num- 
ber of  important  things  to  do  and  to  decide 
about." 

"Really?"  said  Rose  vaguely.  She 
glanced  about  the  room  and  a  shadow 
crossed  her  face.  "Isn't  Algy  here?"  she 
asked. 

"I've  not  seen  him,"  said  Freeman. 

"How  tiresome  he  is!"  Rose  exclaimed. 

"I've  no  doubt  he'll  turn  up  in  time  for 
lunch,"  Freeman  remarked  reassuringly. 

Rose  sat  down  stiffly  and  began  taking 
off  her  gloves.  "I'm  beginning  to  think," 
she  said  icily,  "that  he's  making  too  great 
a  convenience  of  us." 

Freeman  raised  his  eyebrows  and  looked 
at  Dallas-Baker,  who  had  followed  his  wife 
into  the  room. 

"I'm  afraid  Rose  isn't  in  a  very  good 
humour  this  morning,"  he  said  regretfully. 
"I  wish  Algy  would  come," 

"Do  you  really?"  said  Freeman 

"I  do,  indeed,"  Dallas-Baker  replied  with 
emphasis,  "and  I  hope  he's  not  going  to  be 


256  SMITH 

late  for  luncheon.  It  always  puts  Rose  out 
to  be  kept  waiting." 

"Perhaps  he  won't  come  at  all,"  Freeman 
suggested.  "As  it  was  raining  and  you 
couldn't  play  golf,  I  daresay  he  thought  he'd 
take  a  day  off." 

Rose  turned  to  Emily,  apparently  as 
much  from  a  desire  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion as  to  be  hospitable  and  invited  her  to 
stay  to  lunch. 

"It's  very  kind  of  you,"  Emily  replied, 
"but  I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

Rose  looked  vexed,  but  she  only  said: 
"I'm  sorry,"  in  a  tone  that  was  anything 
but  regretful,  and  asked  Emily  if  she  had 
seen  Cynthia  Rosenberg  lately. 

"No,"  Emily  replied.  "I  called,  but  she 
wasn't  at  home." 

"I'm  very  angry  with  her,"  said  Rose  vig- 
orously. "I  called  twice  and  I  happen  to 
know  she  was  in  each  time  and  they  wouldn't 
let  me  up.  I  wrote  and  asked  her  if  I  might 
go  and  see  her,  and  she  hasn't  answered  my 
letter." 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    257 

"I  daresay  she  was  very  much  upset  by 
the  baby's  death,"  Dallas-Baker  remarked 
soothingly. 

Rose  turned  on  him.  "Nonsense!"  she 
said  brusquely. 

"Well,"  he  replied  mildly,  "one  never  can 
tell  how  people  are  going  to  take  these 
things.  She  may  think  that  it  was  a  little 
our  fault  that  she  didn't  get  home  in  time." 

"Oh,  Herbert!"  Rose  exclaimed,  "don't 
begin  on  that  again.  I  think  you're  grow- 
ing more  and  more  prosy  every  day." 

"I've  been  very  much  worried  by  the 
whole  thing,"  he  replied  with  more  firmness 
than  he  generally  showed.  "It  was  unpleas- 
ant. No  one  can  deny  that  it  was  unpleas- 
ant." 

"My  dear  Herbert,"  said  Rose,  "it's  an- 
cient history  now." 

"I'm  a  great  believer  in  looking  facts  in 
the  face,"  he  continued,  undeterred  by  her 
interruption,  "and  the  fact  is  that  people 
might  say  very  disagreeable  things  if  they 
knew  that — " 


258  SMITH 

"It's  quite  indifferent  to  me  what  people 
say  about  me!"  Rose  exclaimed,  taking  the 
words  out  of  her  husband's  mouth. 

While  she  was  still  speaking  the  door  had 
opened  softly  and  Mr.  Peppercorn  entered. 
"How  lucky  I  am,"  he  said,  coming  forward 
and  shaking  hands;  "I've  arrived  in  the  nick 
of  time  for  a  domestic  tiff." 

"You're  very  late,  my  friend,"  said  Rose 
severely. 

"Am  I?"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"You  know  you  are,"  said  Rose.  "Don't 
you  think  you  might  at  least  pretend  some 
regret?" 

"I  precipitate  myself  at  your  feet  and 
kiss  the  hem  of  your  garment,"  he  answered. 
His  remark  was  in  his  usual  vein  of  light- 
ness and  flippancy,  but  there  seemed  to  be 
something  laboured  about  it. 

"I  am  beginning  to  think  that  you  are 
growing  stupid,  Algy,"  said  Rose. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 
"I've  noticed  you've  been  thinking  that  for 
some  time,"  he  said  quietly. 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    259 

Dallas-Baker  laughed  and  shook  a  warn- 
ing finger  at  him.  "What  happened  to  you 
last  night,  young  man?"  he  said  with  mock 
severity.  "It  was  too  bad  of  you  to  tele- 
phone five  minutes  before  dinner  that  you 
were  unable  to  come." 

"Yes,"  said  Rose  coolly,  "I've  been  won- 
dering when  it  would  occur  to  you  to  apolo- 
gise for  putting  us  to  inconvenience." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  slowly  took  out  his  pocket 
handkerchief,  a  corner  of  which  was  knotted. 
"There,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  knot,  "look 
at  that.  I  thought  of  a  most  convincing 
excuse,  as  I  came  along,  and  so  that  I 
shouldn't  forget  it,  I  tied  a  knot  in  my 
handkerchief.  And  now  it's  gone."  He 
shook  his  head  sadly.  "I  shall  never  trust 
a  knot  in  my  handkerchief  again." 

Dallas-Baker  laughed,  but  Rose  heard 
him  through  without  a  smile.  She  was 
about  to  speak  when  Smith  appeared  in  the 
doorway  and  announced  Mrs.  Rosenberg. 

A  moment  later  Cynthia's  slim  figure, 
dressed  in  heavy  mourning,  stood  on  the 


260  SMITH 

threshold  of  the  room,  hesitating,  appar- 
ently, about  entering. 

"Cynthia?"  said  Rose  in  some  surprise. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  so  many  people," 
Mrs.  Rosenberg  replied,  and  advanced  tim- 
idly. "I  thought,  as  it  was  Sunday — " 

Rose  went  to  meet  her  and  kissed  her  with 
a  show  of  affection.  "What  on  earth  is  the 
matter?"  she  asked.  "What  has  happened 
to  you?  Why  wouldn't  you  see  me  the 
other  day,  when  I  called?" 

Cynthia  made  no  answer  at  first  to  Rose's 
question,  because  Dallas-Baker  had  ap- 
proached her,  offered  his  hand  and  was  ex- 
pressing his  pleasure  at  seeing  her.  "I'm 
glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  expressing 
my  sympathy  with  your  great  loss,"  he  said 
with  some  uneasiness. 

Rose  shot  him  a  look.  "Really,  Her- 
bert!" she  said  sharply. 

But  Mrs.  Rosenberg  smiled  rather  mourn- 
fully. "It's  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said. 
"I  came  in  for  a  moment,"  she  went  on,  "be- 
cause I  had  something  to  say  to  Rose." 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    261 

"Would  you  like  us  to  leave  you?"  sug- 
gested Freeman  quickly. 

"No,  don't  bother,"  she  answered. 

"Then  won't  you  sit  down?"  he  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  thank  you," 
she  said;  "I  can  only  stay  a  minute."  She 
turned  to  Rose.  "You  wrote  me  the  other 
day,  Rose,"  she  began. 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  "and  I've  been  wonder- 
ing why  on  earth  you  didn't  answer." 

"Otto  wanted  me  to  answer  by  letter," 
Cynthia  replied,  "but  I  felt  I  couldn't— I 
thought  I  could  explain  so  much  better  if  I 
saw  you."  She  hesitated,  evidently  much 
embarrassed.  "It's  very  difficult." 

"You're  extraordinarily  mysterious!"  said 
Rose.  "I  simply  wrote  to  ask  you  when  I 
could  come  and  see  you.  It  was  mere 
politeness." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  ask  you  to  come  and 
see  me  just  yet,"  Mrs.  Rosenberg  replied. 
"You  must  forgive  me.  I  feel  very 
badly—" 

"But  why  on  earth  not?"  exclaimed  Rose. 


262  SMITH 

"Oh,  I've  had  such  an  awful  week!" 
Cynthia  broke  out  hysterically.  "When  I 
got  home  and  the  baby  was  dead,  Otto  was 
furious  with  me.  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  kill  me!" 

"The  brute!"  said  Rose. 

"I  didn't  mind  that,"  she  went  on  brok- 
enly. "But  he  wouldn't  speak  to  me.  I 
had  to  go  to  Rachel  and  ask  her  to  go  to 
him.  He  said  I  had  married  him  for  his 
money  and  was  a  worthless  wife  and  a 
worthless  mother." 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  let  him  talk 
that  way  to  you,"  said  Rose  severely. 

"It  was  true,"  said  Cynthia,  dropping  her 
eyes. 

"Fortunately,"  Rose  answered,  "we  don't 
live  in  a  world  where  people  habitually 
speak  the  truth." 

"He  talked  of  separating,"  Mrs.  Rosen- 
berg continued,  "and  I  was  horribly  fright- 
ened. It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  whole  world 
were  coming  to  an  end." 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    263 

"Because  Otto  Rosenberg  suggested  a 
separation?"  Rose  asked  ironically. 

"I  suppose  I  cared  for  him  more  than  I 
knew,"  she  answered.  "But  at  last  he  said 
that  if  I  would  promise  to  be  more  de- 
cent, he'd  let  me  stay.  And  I,"  she  added 
falteringly,  "I  promised  to  give  up  seeing 
you." 

"Me?"  exclaimed  Rose  in  angry  amaze- 
ment. 

"All  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg  sim- 
ply— "the  people  that  I  have  been  going 
about  with.  He  thinks  that  you  are — "  she 
stopped  and  then  added  miserably, — "I 
don't  quite  know  how  to  put  it." 

"My  dear,"  said  Rose  insolently,  "you 
need  not  trouble  to  explain.  We  shall  bear 
the  loss  of  your  society  with  fortitude." 

A  look  of  pain  crossed  Cynthia's  pale  face. 
"Don't  be  too  angry  with  me,"  she  said 
appealingly.  "I  felt  that  I  must  explain, 
so  that  you  shouldn't  think  too  badly  of 
me." 


264  SMITH 

"I  think  you've  behaved  very  pluckily," 
said  Freeman. 

Mrs.  Rosenberg  thanked  him  with  her 
eyes,  but  said  nothing.  A  moment  later  she 
turned  to  Emily,  who  was  standing  by  with 
a  smile  of  half-amused  indifference.  "I'm 
afraid  it  applies  to  you,  also,  Emily,"  she 
said  regretfully. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  Emily  answered,  "don't 
be  troubled  about  me.  I  couldn't  have  seen 
much  more  of  you  in  any  case.  I'm  going 
away." 

Rose  turned  toward  her  with  a  quick  sus- 
picion and  then  glanced  at  Tom.  "You  go- 
ing away?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  said  Emily  with  a  quiet  smile.  "I 
came  to  say  good-bye  to  you,  too.  I  am 
going  to  Australia." 

"Australia?"  repeated  Rose,  wonderingly, 
and  again  she  looked  at  Tom. 

"Yes,  Australia,"  Emily  said  again. 
"We  shall  never  battle  with  one  another  at 
bridge  again,  Rose,  dear;  at  least  not  for  a 
long  time." 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS    265 

"That  will  at  least  be  an  advantage  to 
my  pocket,"  said  Rose  with  a  cold  smile. 

"I  wish  you  a  great  deal  of  good  luck, 
Emily,"  said  Mrs.  Rosenberg.  "Good- 
bye." She  kissed  her  on  the  cheek  and  then 
turned  to  Rose.  "Good-bye,  Rose.  I  must 
be  off." 

Rose  nodded  stiffly.  "You  can  tell  Otto 
with  my  compliments,"  she  began,  but 
stopped,  as  Freeman  interrupted  her. 

"I  wouldn't  say  anything  disagreeable, 
Rose,"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Rosen- 
berg, that  I  don't  know  your  husband." 

"You  called  him  a  fat  old  German  when 
you  first  came,"  Mrs.  Rosenberg  observed 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"I  knew  him  much  less  than  I  do  now," 
Freeman  replied  quickly.  "Good-bye." 
He  held  out  his  hand  and  she  took  it 
warmly. 

Then  Mrs.  Rosenberg  bowed  stiffly  to  the 
room  in  general  and,  Dallas-Baker  holding 
open  the  door  for  her,  she  took  her  leave. 

When  she  had  gone,  Rose  burst  into  a 


266  SMITH 

hard  little  laugh.  "I  never  heard  anything 
so  vulgar  and  absurd !"  she  exclaimed.  "Did 
you?" 

"I  daresay  that  we  shall  be  able  to  do 
without  her,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband 
pompously.  "I  don't  think  that  either  she 
or  her  husband  were  quite  our  form." 

"Still,"  said  Rose  bitterly,  "we  might  have 
discovered  that  before  they  turned  their  back 


on  us." 


"That  is  true,"  said  Dallas-Baker  calmly. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I've  got  just  time 
to  read  a  brief  before  luncheon,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  go  and  put  on  a  smoking  jacket. 
I  think  my  frock  coat  is  growing  a  little 
tight  for  me." 

He  turned  to  go,  but  Emily  stopped  him. 
"I'd  better  say  good-bye  to  you,"  she  said, 
"for  I  shall  be  off  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Good-bye,"  he  said  in  his  best  manner. 
"I  am  sure  I  hope  that  you  will  have  a  pleas- 
ant journey,"  and  he  went  out. 

Mr.  Peppercorn,  who  had  begun  to  feel 
the  atmosphere  grow  kindlier  and  more  pro- 


EMILY  MAKES  NEW  PLANS     267 

pitious  as  regards  himself,  dropped  into  a 
chair  and  began  hunting  through  his  pockets 
for  his  cigarette  case.  "You  won't  forget 
to  write  us,  will  you,  Emily,"  he  said 
amiably,  "and  tell  us  all  about  the  kanga- 
roos?" 

"I  won't  forget,"  she  said,  "and  I  will 
write  you." 

"To  me,"  said  Rose,  with  a  knowing  look, 
"it  is  somewhat  of  a  surprise  that  your  des- 
tination is  Australia.  I  suppose  it  is  a  case 
of  leading  the  horse  to  water,  but  being 
unable  to  make  him  drink." 

Emily  nodded  good-naturedly  and  shot  a 
glance  at  Freeman,  intended  to  make  him 
keep  silent,  for  a  frown  had  gathered  on  his 
brows  and  he  looked  ready  to  blurt  out  one 
of  his  lectures  which  so  exasperated  Rose. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  "it's  Australia  for  lack  of 
the  wherewithal  to  make  it  Paris."  The 
two  women  kissed,  said  good-bye,  and  sepa- 
rated. 

"Truly  an  affecting  leave-taking!"  ob- 
served Mr.  Peppercorn,  carefully  selecting 


268  SMITH 

a  cigarette  as  was  his  custom,  although  they 
were  all  the  same  brand. 

"Very,"  said  Emily. 

Freeman  crossed  to  her  and  took  her  hand 
and  held  it  a  moment  in  silence.  "Good- 
bye, my  dear  friend,"  he  said.  "Good 
luck!"  He  went  to  the  door  and  opened 
it  for  her. 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she 
smiled  and,  waving  her  hand  to  him,  left  the 
room. 


THE  STORM  BREAKS  IN  CREDIN 
TON  COURT 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   STORM   BREAKS   IN    CREDINTON   COIPRT 

As  Rose  watched  Emily  leave  the  room,  she 
became  morally  certain  that  her  plan  to  trap 
Tom  had  failed  ignominiously.  She  had  no 
feeling  either  of  pleasure  or  regret  that  such 
should  be  the  case.  At  the  same  time  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  amusing  to  know  the 
details  and  to  find  out  whether  Tom  had 
suspected  the  snare  that  had  been  set  for 
him. 

Freeman  came  slowly  across  the  room  to 
his  book  on  the  window  seat  and  settled  him- 
self as  if  to  read. 

"Well,  Tom,"  Rose  began  good-natur- 
edly, "you  look  quite  broken-hearted.  Why 
did  you  let  her  go  to  Australia  in  this  sud- 
den and  extraordinary  fashion?" 

"What  could  I  do  about  it?"  he  answered 
simply. 

271 


272  SMITH 

"Well,  if  that  is  the  way  you  feel,"  she 
went  on,  "I  don't  see  why  you  pull  such  a 
long  face.  You  look  as  if  you  had  vowed 
never  to  smile  again." 

Freeman  tossed  aside  his  book.  "Doesn't 
it  move  you  a  little,"  he  said  sharply,  "to 
see  the  last  of  a  friend  that  you've  known 
all  your  life?" 

"I  don't  think  she  was  ever  a  very  good 
friend  to  you,"  said  Rose  meaningly.  "Be- 
sides, she  was  getting  quite  impossible,  poor 
thing.  People  were  beginning  to  fight  shy 
of  her." 

"Speaking  of  old  friends,"  said  Mr.  Pep-^ 
percorn,  "personally  I  much  prefer  new 
acquaintances." 

Rose  laughed.  "That  is  a  sentiment  to 
shock  Tom!"  she  said.  "You  musn't  say 
such  things  when  he's  about." 

Freeman  left  the  window  seat  and  stood 
facing  Peppercorn  and  Rose.  "My  dear," 
he  said  soberly,  "you  have  all  long  ceased  to 
shock  me.  I  might  as  well  be  shocked  by 
the  marionettes  in  a  child's  theatre." 


THE  STORM  BREAKS        273 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Peppercorn. 
"What  new  wheeze  is  this?" 

"At  first,  when  I  came  home,"  Freeman 
went  on,  ignoring  the  interruption,  "I  was 
frankly  horrified.  I  thought  I'd  fallen  into 
a  perfect  sink  of  iniquity." 

"How  absurd!"  exclaimed  Rose. 

"How  flattering!"  corrected  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn. 

"It  took  me  some  time  to  discover,"  said 
Freeman,  "that  you  weren't  real  people  at 
all.  You  are  not  men  and  women,  but 
strange,  sexless  creatures  without  blood  in 
your  veins,  and  when  one  puts  you  face  to 
face  with  life,"  he  paused  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  contemptuously,  "you're  like  a 
parcel  of  young  ladies  painting  the  Alps  in 
water  colours.  You  can't  be  wicked. 
You're  too  trifling.  Your  only  vice  is  ciga- 
rette smoking,  your  only  passion  is  bridge. 
You  want  nothing  very  much  except  to  be 
amused  and  boredom  eats  into  your  very 
bones.  In  yourselves  you're  perfectly  un- 
important, but  England  is  full  of  people  as 


274  SMITH 

frivolous,  as  flippant  and  inane.  The  en- 
emy is  at  our  gates  and  we're  frittering 
away  our  time  over  the  games  of  the  circus." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  produced  his  watch  and 
consulted  it  with  a  great  deal  of  manner. 
"It's  lucky  I  haven't  a  train  to  catch,"  he 
observed. 

"My  dear  Tom,"  began  Rose  with  em- 
phasis, "if  this  outburst  of  yours  is  drawn 
out  by  my  remarks  about  Emily  Chapman, 
it  is  just  as  well  that  you  understand  what 
you  are  talking  about.  Emily  Chapman 
cares  as  little  for  me  as  I  do  for  her.  It's 
absurd  of  you  to  lecture  me  like  a  school 
girl  because  I  don't  have  an  attack  of  hys- 
terics when  she  tells  me  she  is  going  to 
Australia." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Freeman  quietly. 

"I  say,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  perking 
up,  "I  wonder  why  the  deuce  she's  going?" 

Rose  smiled  mischievously.  "I  should 
think  Tom  could  tell  you  more  about  that 
than  anybody  else,"  she  answered. 

"Why?"  demanded  Freeman. 


THE  STORM  BREAKS        275 

"Well,"  said  Rose,  "because  I  fancy  she 
failed  in  inducing  you  to  marry  her  and  she 
thought  that  you  were  her  last  chance." 

"It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  I  asked 
her  to  marry  me,"  Freeman  replied. 

"Oh,  what  fun!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pepper- 
corn. "What  did  she  say?" 

"She  refused  me,"  said  Freeman. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Rose. 

"But  the  truth,"  he  replied.  "And,  as 
you  seem  to  be  interested  in  my  matrimonial 
affairs,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  after  she 
refused  me  I  promptly  offered  my  heart 
and  hand  to  Smith— 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  exclaimed 
Rose. 

"But  she,"  Freeman  continued,  "strange 
as  it  may  seem,  refused  me,  too.  So  now 
you  know  all,  as  they  say  in  the  play." 

Mr.  Peppercorn  burst  into  a  fit  of  dis- 
cordant laughter.  "What  a  joke!"  he  cried. 

"You  don't  seriously  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  asked  a  servant  to  marry  you?"  Rose 
demanded. 


276  SMITH 

"I  did,  indeed,"  said  Freeman. 

"You  must  be  off  your  head,"  his  sister 
replied. 

"I  think  she  would  make  an  admirable 
wife,"  Freeman  went  on  gravely.  "She's 
the  only  woman  I've  seen  since  I  came  back 
who  seems  capable  of  being  a  good  house- 
keeper and  a  decent  mother.  She's  very 
simple  and  she  has  a  good  heart,  and  she's 
honest  and  straightforward." 

Rose  looked  at  him  with  mixed  incredulity 
and  scorn.  "Why  did  she  refuse  you?"  she 
asked. 

"I'm  afraid  she  didn't  think  me  good 
enough,"  he  answered. 

"It  must  have  been  rather  a  sell  for  you," 
observed  Mr.  Peppercorn. 

"It  was  rather,"  assented  Freeman. 

"Tom,"  demanded  Rose,  "is  this  the 
truth?" 

"The  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the 
truth,"  he  replied. 

She  walked  stiffly  to  the  bell  that  was  set 
in  the  wall  by  the  fireplace  and  pressed  it. 


THE  STORM  BREAKS        277 

"What  are  you  ringing  for?"  he  de- 
manded. 

She  turned  on  him  haughtily.  "Surely," 
she  said,  "I  can  ring  the  bell  in  my  own 
house  without  accounting  to  you  for  it." 

Freeman  went  toward  her  pleadingly. 
"You're  not  going  to  do  anything  beastly, 
Rose?"  he  said. 

"I  am  going  to  do  what  I  see  fit,"  she 
replied,  "to  maintain  the  dignity,  if  not  the 
decency  of  my  household,"  As  she  finished, 
the  door  opened  and  Smith  came  in.  Rose 
turned  upon  her  at  once.  "Smith,"  she  said 
coldly,  "I  wish  you  to  leave  to-morrow 
morning." 

The  girl  caught  her  breath  and  looked 
about  her  in  amazement.  "Me,  ma'am?" 
she  faltered. 

"Rose!"   exclaimed   Freeman   indignant- 

ly. 

"Please  leave  me  alone,"  she  said  sharply. 
"I  shall  give  you  a  month's  money,"  she 
went  on  to  Smith,  "but  I  wish  you  to  go 
to-morrow." 


278  SMITH 

"But  what  have  I  done,  ma'am,  that  you 
don't  like?"  the  girl  said  meekly. 

"I  have  no  explanations  to  offer,"  Rose 
replied.  "I  shall  expect  you  to  be  ready  at 
ten  o'clock." 

"Rose!"  exclaimed  Freeman,  in  an  under- 
tone, "you  can't  be  such  a  beast!" 

She  turned  on  him  angrily,  her  face  white 
with  passion.  "Surely  I  can  dismiss  my 
own  servants,  if  I  wish  to !"  she  exclaimed. 

Smith  turned  to  go  without  speaking.  A 
stifled  sob  escaped  her,  and  she  left  the  room. 

Brother  and  sister  faced  one  another  for  a 
moment  in  silence.  "How  can  you  be  so 
cruel?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  she  snapped  back. 
"How  can  you  expect  me  to  keep  a  servant 
that  you  have  been  making  love  to?  It's 
too  disgraceful!  Every  tenant  in  the  man- 
sions knows  by  now  that  you've  asked  her 
to  marry  you.  If  you  wanted  to  play  this 
sort  of  trick,  you  ought  not  to  have  come 
here.  You've  made  me  the  laughingstock 
of  the  whole  place." 


THE  STORM  BREAKS        279 

"How  have  I  made  you  the  laughingstock 
of  the  whole  place?"  he  demanded. 

"By  your  ridiculous  conduct,"  she  replied 
— "by  proposing  to  my  parlour  maid,  the 
day  you  say  another  woman  refused  you,  as 
if  getting  a  wife  was  like  picking  out  a  set 
of  china." 

"Then  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  said 
soberly,  "that  it  is  not  like  picking  out  a  set 
of  china  as  far  as  this  woman  is  concerned. 
I  am  just  sick  with  love  for  her." 

"Oh!"  cried  Rose  furiously,  "what  stuff!" 

"I  told  you  that  I  wanted  her  for  this  or 
that  quality,"  Freeman  went  on,  "but  it's  all 
rot.  I  want  her  because  she  is  her  self  and 
I  am  my  self,  because  my  whole  being  cries 
out  for  her.  If  this  means  love, — because 
I  love  her—  He  paused,  changed  his 
tone,  and  went  on  again:  "You've  hated  me, 
Rose,  and  thought  me  interfering.  I  dare- 
say I  have  been  arrogant.  If  you  have  felt 
bitter  towards  me,  you  can  be  satisfied  now. 
You  have  had  revenge  enough."  He  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  out. 


280  SMITH 

Rose  heard  him  going  to  his  room,  but 
made  no  attempt  to  call  him  back.  "He  is 
too  absurd!"  she  said. 


MR.  PEPPERCORN  MAKES  AN 
ANNOUNCEMENT 


CHAPTER    XVI 

MR.  PEPPERCORN  MAKES  AN  ANNOUNCEMENT 

MR.  PEPPERCORN  threw  his  half-smoked 
cigarette  into  the  fireplace,  rose  and  pulled 
his  coat  down,  smoothed  and  buttoned  it. 
"All  this  emotion  is  really  making  me  very 
uncomfortable,"  he  said.  "I  think  I'll  be 
toddling." 

Rose  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Aren't 
you  lunching  here?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't,"  he  said  uneasily. 
"Didn't  you  know?" 

"I  didn't,"  said  Rose  grimly. 

"How  stupid  of  mother!"  explained  Mr. 
Peppercorn.  "I  told  her  to  ring  you  up  this 
morning  and  tell  you." 

"She  didn't,"  said  Rose.  "Where  are 
you  lunching?" 

"I?"  he  answered.  "Oh,  with  Lady 
Whitstable." 

283 


284  SMITH 

"Lady  Whitstable  is  out  of  town,"  said 
Rose.  "I  saw  in  the  paper  this  morning 
that  she'd  got  a  week-end  party  on  the 


river." 


"Has  she?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Peppercorn 
with  interest.  "That's  awkward,  isn't  it?" 

"You've  rather  put  your  foot  in  it,"  said 
Rose  dangerously,  "haven't  you?" 

"I  have,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  with  a 
kind  of  vague,  impersonal  regret  at  the  error 
which  had  been  made.  "It  shows  the  dan- 
ger of  snobbishness.  If  I  had  said  I  was 
lunching  with  Mrs.  Jones  or  Robinson,  you 
would  have  been  none  the  wiser." 

Rose  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "Sit 
down,"  she  said.  "What  are  you  hiding 
from  me?" 

"I?"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn  blandly. 

"Oh,  don't  pretend  to  be.  stupider  than 
you  are,"  she  insisted.  "I  know  you're  hid- 
ing something  from  me.  Something  is  the 
matter,  and  I  want  to  know.  Why  did  you 
tell  me  that  lie?" 

"It  was  stupid  of  me,"  said  Mr.  Pepper- 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT        285 

corn  frankly.  "I  am  lunching  with  some 
Americans  called  Trevor." 

"I've  never  heard  of  them,"  said  Rose 
thoughtfully. 

"Notwithstanding  they  have  managed  to 
exist,"  he  replied  with  his  old  impertinence, 
"and  even  to  amass  a  considerable  fortune." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  "What  do 
you  mean?"  she  demanded. 

"I  suppose  you  have  guessed  it,"  he  said. 
"If  you  want  to  know,  I  am  proposing  to 
marry  their  young  and  lovely  daughter." 

"Are  you  engaged  to  her?"  Rose  asked 
quickly. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  smiled  amiably.  "I 
am,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Rose  sjipke 
again.  "How  long  has  this  been  going  on?" 
she  demanded. 

"I  offered  her  my  young  affections  at  a 
dance  the  night  before  last,"  he  replied. 
"That  would  make  it  forty-eight  hours  this 
evening." 

"Why  haven't  you  told  me  anything  about 


286  SMITH 

it?"  she  asked.  "You  knew  that  I  would 
be  interested." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn,  "the 
Trevors  are  making  a  little  tour  around 
Europe  this  summer  and  won't  return  to 
London  until  the  late  autumn.  I  thought 
that  there  was  no  need  to  trouble  you  about 
my  private  affairs  until  then." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Rose  icily,  "that  you 
thought  we  mightn't  be  so  ready  to  take  you 
motoring  with  us  this  summer  if — "  She 
stopped,  choked  with  indignation. 

"If  what?"  inquired  Mr.  Peppercorn 
blandly. 

"Do  you  never  tell  the  truth?"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Seldom  to  women,"  he  replied  quietly. 
"I'm  always  afraid  they'll  look  upon  it  as 
an  impertinence." 

Rose  made  no  reply.  Angry  as  she  was, 
her  curiosity  about  the  Trevor  girl  was  para- 
mount. "Is  this  girl  rich?"  she  asked. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  "for  an 
American  she's  very  poor.  She  has  barely 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT        28T 

ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  poor  thing. 
We  shall  have  to  be  rigidly  economical. 
Isn't  it  a  pity,  when  I  so  appreciate  com- 
fort?" 

"Oh,  don't  laugh  all  the  time!"  Rose  cried 
explosively.  She  threw  herself  into  the 
armchair  by  the  fire  and  gazed  sullenly  at 
the  blazing  coals. 

"Upon  my  word,  you  know!"  said  Mr. 
Peppercorn,  "I  don't  see  why  you're 
taking  it  like  this!  Not  a  sentiment  of 
congratulation  or  praise  have  you  ex- 
pressed." 

She  turned  angrily  upon  him.  "How 
could  you  let  me  go  on  making  all  sorts  of 
plans  for  the  future?"  she  exclaimed.  "If 
you'd  had  any  decent  feelings  at  all,  you 
wouldn't  have  made  such  a  fool  of  me!" 

"My  dear  Rose,"  said  Mr.  Peppercorn 
propitiatingly,  "women  are  very  peculiar. 
We  got  on  extremely  well  together,  but  you 
were  just  as  little  in  love  with  me  as  I  was 
with  you.  It  would  have  bored  you,  if  I 
had  made  love  to  you,  just  as  it  would  have 


288  SMITH 

bored  me  to  do  it.  But  I  knew  quite  well 
that  you  didn't  want  me  to  make  love  to 
anyone  else.  You  liked  to  think  of  me  as 
your  property  and  you  were  looking  forward 
to  the  pleasure  of  giving  me  the  chuck  when 
you  grew  sick  of  me." 

Rose  turned  her  head  away.  "There's 
not  a  soul  in  the  world  that  cares  for  me!" 
she  blurted  out  through  angry  sobs. 

"My  dear  Rose,"  Mr.  Peppercorn  began. 
He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  but  she 
flung  it  off  with  an  impatient  shrug.  He 
put  the  spurned  member  into  his  trousers 
pocket  and  went  on,  "You  are  just  about  to 
do  a  very  foolish  thing.  Now  that  I'm  en- 
gaged to  somebody  else,  you  are  going  to 
persuade  yourself  that  you're  in  love  with 


me." 


"How  can  you  have  the  heart  to  sneer  at 
me?"  she  sobbed. 

"I'm  not  sneering  at  you,"  he  replied. 
"I'm  only  suggesting  the  exercise  of  a  little 
common  sense."  He  stopped  and  con- 
sulted his  watch  again.  "I  really  am  afraid 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT        289 

I  must  be  toddling,"  he  said.  "I  suppose 
you'll  be  in  to  supper?"  he  added. 

Rose  shot  him  a  look  of  loathing.  "No," 
she  said.  She  dried  her  eyes,  got  up  and 
went  to  the  piano. 

"That  is  a  nuisance,"  he  said  calmly.  "I 
shall  have  to  sup  with  mother.  Still,  what 
can't  be  cured,  you  know- 
Rose  took  a  cigarette  from  a  silver  box 
on  the  piano  top  and  nervously  lit  it.  "You 
need  not  give  yourself  the  trouble  of  coming 
here  again,"  she  said.  "I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  you  bore  me." 

"Just  as  you  like,"  Mr.  Peppercorn  re- 
plied calmly.  "But  you  see,  now,  how  wise 
I  was  to  keep  the  happy  news  of  my  en- 
gagement locked  in  my  own  manly  bosom?" 

"You'll  be  too  late  for  your  party,"  said 
Rose  satirically. 

Mr.  Peppercorn  smiled  good-naturedly. 
"Good-bye,"  he  said.  "I'm  sure  you'll  like 
my  wife."  He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she 
drew  away  with  a  shudder  of  disgust. 

"You  cad!"  she  exclaimed. 


290  SMITH 

Mr.  Peppercorn  laughed  lightly.  "Well, 
good-bye  again,"  he  said,  and  went  out. 

A  few  moments  later  Freeman  re-entered 
the  drawing-room  and  found  Rose  on  the 
couch,  her  face  buried  in  a  cushion. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter?  I 
thought  I  heard  Algy  go  out." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
bitterly.  "He's  gone  for  good,"  she  said. 

"Has  he?"  said  Freeman  calmly.  "Well, 
I  don't  think  he's  much  loss." 

"What  have  I  done?"  she  went  on  slowly. 
"Emily's  gone  and  Cynthia  won't  see  me, 
and  now  he's  gone,  too.  Why  have  they  all 
left  me  at  once?  I  might  be  plague- 
stricken." 

"I  think  they  left  you,"  said  Freeman  in 
a  kindly  tone,  "because  you  never  tried  to 
make  them  your  friends.  You  used  them 
for  your  pleasure,  as  they  used  you  for 
theirs.  It's  very  hard  to  make  friends.  It 
requires  that  one  should  give  all  oneself 
without  a  thought  of  return.  But  you 
might  find  it  worth  while." 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT        291 

"I  despise  them  all!"  cried  Rose,  leaping 
to  her  feet.  "They're  beneath  contempt!" 

"Steady!"  said  Freeman  gently.  "Per- 
haps it  isn't  their  fault  altogether.  You've 
got  precious  little  out  of  life  so  far.  Why 
don't  you  try  a  change?  You've  got  a 
chance  that  you'll  never  have  again." 

Rose  looked  at  him,  and  for  a  moment 
her  lip  quivered  and  she  hesitated.  "Can 
the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin  or  the  leopard 
his  spots?"  she  said  slowly.  "I'm  not  made 
like  you,  Tom.  No,"  she  continued, 
speaking  more  rapidly,  "no,  I  must  go  on 
as  I've  begun.  If  a  few  acquaintances  have 
left  me,  I  can  make  more.  I'm  not  going  to 
worry  my  head  about  them.  There  are  as 
good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  were  caught." 
She  went  nervously  to  the  door  and  began 
to  call  her  husband.  He  gave  her  an  an- 
swering "Hello!"  from  his  study.  "Be 
quick,  I  want  you!"  she  called.  She  came 
restlessly  back  into  the  room,  took  her  hat 
from  the  table  and  began  putting  it  on  with 
feverish  haste. 


292  SMITH 

A  moment  later  Dallas-Baker  put  his 
head  in.  "Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "What's 
the  matter?" 

"Be  quick!"  she  exclaimed.  "Get  into 
your  coat,  I  want  you!  Let's  go  and  lunch 
at  Princes's,  you  and  I.  We  can't  lunch  in. 
There's  been  a  catastrophe  in  the  kitchen." 

Dallas-Baker  looked  at  her  perplexed. 
"Why,  Rose,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 
he  asked. 

She  laughed  hysterically.  "Nothing's 
the  matter  with  me,"  she  answered.  "But 
I'm  bored.  I  want  gaiety.  I  want  the 
crowd,  and  the  band,  and  the  noise!" 

"Just  as  you  like,  my  dear,"  her  husband 
replied.  "But  what  about  Tom?" 

"That's  arranged,"  said  Freeman  quickly. 
"I'm  going  to  my  club." 

"Very  well,"  said  Dallas-Baker  doubt- 
fully. "I'll  change  my  coat." 

"Hurry!"  Rose  called  after  him.  "It's 
awfully  late."  She  turned  to  her  brother, 
but  spoke  as  if  to  herself  or  to  some  imper- 
sonal auditor.  "I  won't  be  bored!"  she  said 


AN  ANNOUNCEMENT        293 

passionately.  "I'm  going  to  amuse  myself. 
I  want  the  crowd,  and  the  band,  and  the 
gaiety!  And  afterwards  we'll  take  a  taxi 
and  go  down  to  Ranlegh." 

Freeman  watched  her,  hoping  for  an  op- 
portunity to  speak,  but  she  gave  him  none. 
He  went  to  her  and  laid  his  hand  soothingly 
on  her  arm,  but  she  flung  him  off  and  paced 
restlessly  to  and  fro  the  length  of  the  room, 
swallowing  the  sobbing  that  choked  her. 

Presently  her  husband  returned.  "I'm 
ready,  dear,"  he  said. 

"Then  hurry,"  she  answered  and,  dabbing 
at  her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief,  she  led  the 
way  out. 


TOM  FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN 


CHAPTER   XVII 

TOM    FREEMAN    TRIES   AGAIN 

FREEMAN  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
blankly  wondering  at  the  scene  to  which  he 
had  been  witness,  till  he  heard  the  front 
door  close  with  a  bang.  Then  he  shook  his 
head  sorrowfully  and  went  to  the  armchair 
by  the  fire,  sat  down  and  mechanically 
sought  the  solace  of  tobacco.  He  smoked 
for  perhaps  three  minutes,  considering  the 
situation  in  which  he  found  himself.  Rose 
had  passed  out  of  his  life.  Emily  Chap- 
man was  off  for  Australia,  and  he  was  on 
the  eve  of  sailing  back  to  South  Africa 
again.  The  only  living  creature  that  he  re- 
gretted leaving  was  Smith.  Smith  and  her 
problem  and  the  complications  which  he  had 
unwittingly  introduced  into  it  laid  very 
heavily  on  his  heart.  The  worst  of  it  was 
that  he  seemed  powerless  to  do  anything. 
"One  can't  adopt  a  beautiful  parlour  maid," 
297 


298  SMITH 

he  murmured.  Assistance  of  a  financial  na- 
ture, he  knew  that  she  would  not  accept, 
yet  he  had  caused  her  dismissal  and  was 
morally  responsible  in  a  way  for  making  it 
up  to  her.  But  over  and  beyond  that,  as 
he  had  confessed  to  Rose,  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  which,  as  she  did  not  return  the 
sentiment,  only  tended  further  to  complicate 
matters. 

However,  Freeman  had  never  been  the 
kind  of  man  that  withers  in  inaction.  He 
had  made  many  mistakes,  but  never  that  of 
doing  nothing.  Just  as  it  seemed  to  him 
that  there  was  nothing  to  do  except  to  slip 
off  to  Rhodesia  by  the  next  ship,  a  smile 
came  to  his  lips.  He  tossed  his  cigarette 
into  the  fireplace,  rose,  took  a  vase  of  flowers 
from  the  mantelpiece,  went  to  the  window, 
poured  out  part  of  the  water  and  then,  com- 
ing back  to  the  centre  table,  strewed  them 
and  the  rest  of  the  water  on  the  floor,  lay- 
ing the  vase  on  its  side,  as  if  it  had  acci- 
dentally been  knocked  from  the  table. 
After  surveying  his  work  with  some  sat- 


FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN     299 

isfaction,  he  went  to  the  bell  and  rang. 
Then  he  lighted  another  cigarette  and  sat 
down. 

After  a  suitable  interval,  Smith  ap- 
peared. She  carried  herself  even  straighter 
and  with  more  dignity  than  was  usual,  and 
her  eyes  looked  red  and  swollen.  "Did  you 
ring,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  disingenuously.  "It 
was  very  stupid  of  me.  I  knocked  a  flower 
glass  off  the  table.  I  wonder  if  you  would 
bring  me  a  duster?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  She  went  to  one 
of  the  bookcases,  opened  a  drawer  in  the 
bottom  and  came  back  with  a  dust  cloth. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  came  forward 
as  if  to  take  it. 

"Oh,  no;  I'll  do  it,"  she  said  firmly.  She 
got  down  on  her  knees  and  began  to  wipe 
up  the  carpet  and  gather  the  flowers  back 
into  the  vase. 

"It's  lucky  it  wasn't  broken,  isn't  it?"  he 
suggested. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.     Her  voice  had 


300  SMITH 

a  little  break  in  it  and  he  noticed  that,  as  she 
bent  her  head  over  her  work,  twice  she  put 
her  hand  to  her  eyes. 

"You've  been  crying,"  he  said  gently. 

"No,  I  haven't,  sir,"  she  answered  sharply, 
but  without  looking  up  at  him. 

"I  apologise  then,"  he  said.  "Do  you 
mind  my  asking  if  you  are  much  put  out 
at  leaving?" 

"No  one  has  ever  given  me  notice  before, 
sir,"  she  said  miserably.  "I  don't  like  be- 
ing spoken  to  like  a  dog." 

"I'm  very  sorry  about  that,"  he  said 
gravely.  "It's  all  my  fault.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  me  that  my  sister  could  take  it  in 
that  way." 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  she  answered. 
"Cook  said  it  was  bound  to  come!" 

"Cook  seems  to  be  a  confirmed  pessimist," 
he  observed. 

"It  won't  take  me  long  to  find  another 
place,"  she  went  on.  She  finished  gather- 
ing up  the  flowers  and,  rising,  placed  them 
on  the  table  again. 


FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN     801 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  your  sister's 
at  Sydney,"  he  said. 

Smith  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  do  that 
now,  sir,"  she  replied.  "I  had  a  letter  from 
her  last  week,  saying  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band were  coming  home  for  a  holiday." 

"Oh!"  said  Freeman.  "Then  perhaps 
you'd  like  to  stay  on  here.  My  sister  speaks 
very  sharply  on  the  impulse,  but  I  daresay 
she  would — " 

Smith  interrupted  him  with  quiet  dignity. 
"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  she  said,  "but 
I  shouldn't  like  to  stay  in  a  place  where  I'd 
been  given  notice  for  no  fault  of  my  own." 

"Have  your  own  way,"  he  answered,  "but 
I  call  it  sinful  pride." 

"I  call  it  a  proper  spirit,"  she  answered 
firmly. 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly.  "Then," 
said  he,  "it  seems  to  me  that  the  only  thing 
that  remains  is  Fletcher." 

"Thank  you,  it  will  be  a  long  time  before 
I  marry  Fletcher!"  she  replied  with  spirit. 
As  she  spoke  about  Fletcher,  she  seemed 


302  SMITH 

either  to  forget  or  lay  aside  the  professional 
Smith  more  than  she  had  ever  done  before 
in  his  presence,  and  to  his  eyes  her  beauty 
and  charm  increased  accordingly. 

"What  has  Fletcher  done?"  he  asked. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  and  told  him  I 
wouldn't,  that's  all,"  she  explained. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  he  demanded. 

Smith  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "You 
remember  that  cork  that  you  drew?"  she 
asked. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  he  answered.  "The 
young  Hercules  couldn't  manage  it,  could 
he?" 

"Well,"  continued  Smith,  "I  told  him  that 
if  he  couldn't  draw  a  cork  that  a  gentleman 
could  draw,  he  must  be  a  weak  little  thing. 
I  was  only  chaffing  him,  sir,  but  he  got  quite 
nasty  about  it,  and  one  thing  led  to  another, 
and  at  last,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I 
told  him  he  could  take  himself  off,"  and  she 
added  simply:  "Last  Wednesday  he  went 
out  with  the  girl  upstairs." 

"It    seems    to    me,"    Freeman    observed 


FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN     303 

gravely,  "that  you  are  rather  at  a  loose  end." 

She  made  no  reply,  for  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  flowers  on  the  table  and  she 
seemed  to  be  working  out  something  in  her 
mind.  "Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said  with 
some  hesitation. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  went  on,  "how  did  you 
knock  these  flowers  off  the  table  when  I  dis- 
tinctly remember  putting  them  on  the  man- 
telpiece?" 

"I  didn't  knock  them  off  the  table,"  he 
answered  solemnly.  "I  put  them  very 
carefully  on  the  floor,  so  that  you  should 
have  the  bother  of  clearing  them  up." 

Smith  looked  at  him  in  hopeless  perplex- 
ity, then  a  smile  broke  on  her  lips,  and  next 
she  laughed.  "You  are  a  caution!"  she  ex- 
claimed in  her  low,  delightful  voice. 

Freeman  took  a  step  forward  and  squared 
his  shoulders.  "Why  don't  you  change 
your  mind  and  marry  me?"  he  asked.  He 
attempted  to  carry  it  off  gaily,  but  his  voice 
trembled. 


304  SMITH 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  she  said  de- 
cidedly, "but  when  I  say  no,  I  mean  no." 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  me  person- 
ally?" he  asked  in  desperation. 

She  smiled  again.  "No,  sir,"  she  an- 
swered, "I  can't  say  that  I  have." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  gazing  at 
one  another,  then  he  began,  his  voice  uncer- 
tain with  emotion.  "You  know  at  first," 
he  said,  "I  asked  you  to  marry  me  because 
I  wanted  a  wife.  Now  I  ask  you  to  marry 
me  because  I  want  you" 

As  he  finished,  the  duster  slipped  from 
her  hand,  her  lips  began  to  quiver,  and  sud- 
denly, like  a  child,  she  burst  into  tears  and, 
dropping  into  the  armchair  by  the  fire,  she 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"What  the  devil  is  the  matter,  now?"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Why  couldn't  you  leave  me  alone?"  she 
sobbed. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  don't!  don't!"  he  said  pro- 
testingly. 

"I  was  quite  happy  till  you  came,"  she 


FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN     305 

went  on  brokenly.  "I've  never  done  you 
any  harm  and  you—  She  stopped,  unable 
to  go  on  and  gave  herself  up  to  sobbing. 

The  colour  left  Freeman's  face  and  his 
voice  trembled.  "Is  it  possible  that  you 
care?"  he  said.  "For  God's  sake,  don't 
play  the  fool  with  me  now!"  He  took  her 
hands  and  drew  them  gently  away  from  her 
face. 

"If  you  really  cared  for  me,"  she  said 
sorrowfully,  "you  wouldn't  have  proposed 
as  if  it  was  a  joke."  She  snatched  her 
hands  away.  "I  hate  you!"  she  exclaimed 
fiercely.  "I've  always  tried  to  do  my  best, 
and  you  come  here  and — "  she  began  to 
choke  again — "I  haven't  deserved  it,"  she 
sobbed. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said  earnestly,  "if  you 
only  knew  how  much  I  loved  you !  It  would 
make  me  so  desperately  happy,  if  I  thought 
you  could  ever  care  for  me!" 

"Cook  was  quite  right,"  she  said,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself;  "I  ought  to  have  gone 
at  once." 


306  SMITH 

"Oh,  damn  cook!"  he  exclaimed  impa- 
tiently. 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  coming  over  me 
like  this,"  she  went  on.  "I  never  gave  you 
a  thought  till  you  asked  me,  and  then — and 
then,"  she  added  simply,  "I  thought  I'd 
liked  you  ever  since  you  came."  She 
dropped  back  into  the  chair  from  which  she 
had  risen,  and  he  took  her  hands  and  knelt 
beside  her. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "do  you  mean 
it?" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  dropped  her  head 
on  his  shoulder.  Her  cap  became  disar- 
ranged, and  she  put  up  a  hand  to  replace  it. 

"Take  the  damned  thing  off!"  he  cried. 

With  a  swift  movement  she  unpinned  it 
and  smiled  at  him. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  didn't 
know  you  had  such  hair!" 

She  said  nothing,  but  sat  there,  gazing  at 
him  with  misty  eyes,  her  little  head  crowned 
with  a  glory  of  straw-coloured  hair. 

He  rose  slowly  and  drew  her  to  her  feet. 


FREEMAN  TRIES  AGAIN     307 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  and  put  his  arm  about 
her,  but  she  drew  away  again. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  said  pitifully.  "It 
wouldn't  do.  Just  think  of  the  difference. 
I'm  not  good  enough  for  you." 

"Bosh!"  he  cried  savagely.  "Now  tell 
me  what  your  name  is." 

She  laughed  and  hid  her  face  on  his  shoul- 
der. "Mary,"  she  whispered. 

"How  ripping!"  he  exclaimed.  "That's 
just  what  I  wanted  it  to  be!" 


THE  END 


VC  46250 


